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PAEKER'S    RHETORICAL    REABE2. 
EXERCISES 

IN 

RHETORICAL    READING; 

WITH    A    SERIES    OP 

INTRODUCTORY  LESSONS, 


PARTICULARLY    DESIGNED    TO    FAMILIARIZE     READERS    W^TH     THE 

PAUSES    AND   OTHER    MARKS    IN    GENERAL   USE,     AND    LEAD 

THEM    TO    THE    PRACTICE    OF    MODULATION    AND 

INFLECTION    OF    THE    VOICE. 


BY  RICHARD  GREEN  PARKER,  A.M. 

/ 

PRINCIPAL    07    THE    JOHNSON    SCHOOL,     BOSTON;    AUTHOR  OF    "AIDS  TO   ENOLISH 

COMPOSITION,"    "  OUTLINES   OP  GENERAL   HISTORY,"    "  THE   SCHOOL 

COMPEND    OP    NATURAL    PHILOSOPHy,"   4C. 


FIFTH     EDITION. 


NEW    YORK: 

PrJBLISHED    BY    A.  S.  BARNES   &  CO 

CINCINNATI: 

H.    W.    DERBY   &    CO. 

1850. 


EDUCATION  DEPT. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by 

A.    S.    BARNES   !c    CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of 

New  York. 


Stereotyped   by 

HOBART  &   ROB BINS; 

NBW  BNOLAND  TYPB  AND   STEHEOTTPB  FOUNDBRY, 

BOSTON. 


F.  G.  GUTIERREZ, 

PRINTER, 

Cor.  John  and  Dutch-streets,  N.  Y. 


PREFACE 


The  principal  difficulty,  in  teaching  the  art  of  Reading,  lies  in  conveying 
to  the  pupil  a  clear  idea  of  tone,  modulation,  and  inflection  of  the  voice.  II 
the  teacher  can  induce  the  pupil  to  inflect  his  voice  at  all,  he  will  find  little 
difficulty  in  teaching  him  to  modulate  it  rightly.  Nature  directs  every  one 
in  this,  in  common  conversation,  with  unerring  precision.  It  is  only,  there 
fore,  by  "  holding  the  mirror  up  to  Nature,'^  that  the  teacher  can  expect  to  see 
her  as  she  is.  Few  teachers  have  not  noticed  the  animation  and  correctness 
with  which  even  young  children  will  modulate  the  colloquial  parts  of  their 
story-books.  But  the  same  children  almost  invariably  fall  into  a  lifeless, 
monotonous  manner,  when  performing  their  portioned  tasks  in  their  reading- 
books  at  school.  This  arises  from  no  want  of  excellent  selections  for  exer- 
cises in  Reading.  But  a  wide  distinction  is  to  be  drawn  between  a  lesson 
and  an  exercise.  We  have  many  selections  abounding  in  all  the  beauties  of 
taste,  learning,  and  judgment ;  which  may,  with  great  advantage,  be  put 
into  the  hands  of  the  pupil,  after  he  has  been  taught  the  art  of  reading;  but 
I  have  met  with  none,  designed  for  the  general  classes  of  learners,  which 
have  combined  instruction  with  practice.  It  has  been  thought  that  directions 
for  the  management  of  the  voice  in  reading  would  be  lost  upon  young  learn- 
ers, and  that  they  are  suitable  for  them  only  whose  riper  powers  and  more 
matured  intellect  better  fit  them  for  their  reception.  But  it  seems  to  have 
been  forgotten,  how  easily  children  are  taught  to  imitate.  If,  in  connexion 
with  some  colloquial  sentence,  another  of  less  obvious  import  be  given, 
requiring  tfie  same  modulations  and  inflections  of  the  voice,  the  child  natur- 
ally catches  the  true  manner  of  modulating  the  latter,  from  the  former.  It  is 
upon  this  principle  of  imitation  and  analogy  combined,  that  many  of  the 
lessons  in  this  volume  are  founded.  The  author  has  been  convinced,  by 
experience,  in  the  institution  under  his  charge,  that  the  principle  is  a  good 
one  ;  and  experience,  he  thinks,  does  not  often  deceive.  Whether  the  details 
of  the  plan  are  judiciously  executed,  is  for  others  to  decide. 

Such  being  the  plan  of  the  work,  the  author  has  thought  it  inexpedient  to 
encumber  its  pages  with  rules,  definitions,  or  explanatory  detail;  because  it 
has  been  fully  proved  that  how  simple  soever  a  rule  may  be,  the  pupil  will 
not  reaulily  apply  it,  unless  particularly  directed  by  the  teacher  ;  and  if  nature 
and  analogy  will  direct  him  to  a  correct  and  rhetorical  modulation,  rules  and 
definitions  become  superfluous. 

A  great  deficiency  in  all  our  reading-books  remains  to  be  supplied.    The 
1* 


ivig09501 


VI  PREFACE. 

Spelling-book  and  the  Grammar  furnish  copious  explanations  ol  the  pauses 
and  other  marks  used  in  written  language.  But  there  is  no  elementary 
work,  designed  for  common  schools,  which  affords  particular  exercises  for  the 
management  of  those  important  marks.  The  author  has  endeavored,  in  the 
first  part  of  this  volume,  to  supply  this  remarkable  defect ;  and  he  believes, 
that,  how  much  soever  others  may  differ  from  him  in  the  analogies  which  he 
has  traced,  in  the  subsequent  lessons,  between  "fAe  models"  and  the  exer- 
cises under  the  models,  he  is  justly  entitled  to  the  credit  of  having  originated 
the  two  important  principles  above  mentioned,  upon  which  the  plan  of  the 
work  is  founded  ;  and  he  is  encouraged,  not  only  by  experience,  but  by  the 
confident  opinion  of  many  judicious  friends,  to  whom  the  plan  has  been 
unfolded,  to  believe  that  this  volume,  assisted  by  the  familiar  explanations 
of  the  teacher,  will  serve  as  a  better  introduction  to  the  art  of  Reading 
than  a  more  labored  treatise  formed  on  rhetorical  rule.  A  lesson  is  first 
devoted  to  each  of  the  respective  pauses  and  other  marks,  and  the  pupil  is 
then  led  by  progressive  steps,  in  the  subsequent  lessons,  from  the  simplest 
sentences,  requiring  little  attention  to  pause,  emphasis,  or  inflection  of  the 
voice,  to  those  which  involve  the  highest  exertions  of  taste  and  intellect. 
Lilac  Lodge,  Dedham,  Mass.,  June,  1849. 


INTRODUCTION. 


As  a  large  portion  of  this  volume  is  devoted  to  a  consideration  of  the 
pauses  and  other  marks  usually  employed  in  written  language,  and  the 
notice  which  should  be  taken  of  them  in  the  correct  and  judicious  enun- 
ciation of  the  sentences  in  which  they  are  respectively  used,  a  few  intro- 
ductory remarks  respecting  their  nature  and  the  origin  of  their  names 
may  not,  perhaps,  be  deemed  superfluous  by  those  who  use  the  book. 

Punctuation  is  peculiar  to  the  modern  languages  of  Europe.  It  was 
wholly  unknown  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans ;  and  the  languages  of  the 
East,  although  they  have  certain  marks  or  signs  to  indicate  tones,  have 
no  regular  system  of  punctuation.  The  Romans  and  the  Greeks  also, 
it  is  true,  had  certain  points,  which,  like  those  of  the  languages  of  the 
East,  were  confined  to  the  delivery  and  pronunciation  of  words ;  but  the 
pauses  were  indicated  by  breaking  up  the  matter  into  lines  or  para- 
graphs, not  by  marks  resembling  those  in  the  modern  system  of  punc- 
tuation. Hence,  in  the  responses  of  the  ancient  oracles,  which  were 
generally  written  down  by  the  priests  and  delivered  to  the  inquirers,  the 
ambiguity  —  intentional,  doubtless  —  which  the  want  of  punctuation 
caused,  saved  the  credit  of  the  oracle,  whether  the  expected  event  was 
favorable  or  unfavorable.  As  an  instance  of  this  kind,  may  be  cited  that 
remarkable  response  which  was  given  on  a  well  known  occasion  when 
the  oracle  was  consulted  with  regard  to  the  success  of  a  certain  military 
expedition. 

"Ibis  et  redibis  nunquam  peribis  in  bello."  Written,  as  it  was, 
without  being  pointed,  it  might  be  translated  either  "  Thou  shalt  go, 
and  shalt  never  return,  thou  shalt  perish  in  battle,"  or  "  Thou  shalt  go 
and  shalt  return,  thou  shalt  never  perish  in  battle."  The  correct  trans- 
lation depends  on  the  placing  of  a  comma  after  the  word  nunquam,  or 
after  redibis. 

The  invention  of  the  modem  system  of  punctuation  has  been  attrib- 
uted to  the  Alexandrian  grammarian  Aristophanes,  after  whom  it  was 
improved  by  succeeding  grammarians ;  but  it  was  so  entirely  lost  in  the 
time  of  Charlemagne  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  have  it  restored  by 
Warnefried  and  Alcuin.  It  consisted  at  first  of  only  one  point,  used  in 
three  ways,  and  sometimes  of  a  stroke,  both  being  formed  in  several 
ways.  But  as  no  particular  rules  were  followed  in  the  use  of  these  signs, 
punctuation  was  exceedingly  uncertain,  until  the  end  of  the  fifteenth 


8 


INTRODUCTION. 


century,  when  the  learned  Venetian  printers,  the  Manutii,  increased  the 
number  of  the  signs,  and  established  some  fixed  rules  for  their  applica- 
tion. These  were  so  generally  adopted,  that  we  may  consider  them  as 
the  inventors  of  the  present  method  of  punctuation ;  and  although  mod- 
ern grammarians  have  introduced  some  improvements,  nothing  but  some 
particular  rules  have  been  added  since  that  time. 

The  design  of  the  system  of  Manutius  was  purely  grammatical,  and 
had  no  further  reference  to  enunciation,  than  to  remove  ambiguity  in 
the  meaning  and  to  give  precision  to  the  sentence.  This,  therefore,  is 
the  object  of  punctuation,  and  although  the  marks  employed  in  written 
language  may  sometimes  denote  the  difierent  pauses  and  tones  of  voice 
which  the  sense  and  an  accurate  pronunciation  require,  yet  they  are 
more  generally  designed  to  mark  the  grammatical  divisions  of  a  sen- 
tence, and  to  show  the  dependence  and  relation  of  words  and  members 
which  are  separated  by  the  intervening  clauses.  The  teacher,  therefore, 
who  directs  his  pupils  to  "mind  their  pauses  in  reading,"  gives  but  an 
unintelligible  direction  to  those  who  are  unversed  in  the  rules  of  analysis. 
A  better  direction  would  be  to  disregard  the  pauses,  and  endeavor  to  read 
the  sentence  with  just  such  pauses  and  tones  as  they  would  employ  if 
the  sentence  were  their  own,  and  they  were  uttering  it  in  common  con- 
versation. The  truth  of  this  remark  will  abundantly  appear  by  a  refer- 
ence to  the  ninth  lesson  of  this  volume,  and  the  directions  given  in 
relation  to  the  comma.  Indeed  it  is  often  the  case  that  correct  and 
tasteful  reading  requires  pauses,  and  those  too  of  a  considerable  length, 
to  be  made,  where  such  pauses  are  indicated  in  written  language  by  no 
mark  whatever.     [See  Lesson  X.] 

In  like  manner  it  will  appear,  from  an  inspection  of  the  latter  part  of 
the  ninth  lesson,  that  it  is  not  unfrequently  the  case  that  the  sense  will 
allow  no  pause  whatever  to  be  made  in  cases  where,  if  the  marks  alone 
were  observed,  it  would  seem  that  a  pause  of  considerable  length  is 
required.  The  pupil,  therefore,  who  has  been  taught  to  mind  his  pauses, 
must  first  be  taught  to  unlearn  this  direction,  and  endeavor  to  understand 
the  sentence  which  he  is  to  read  before  he  attempts  to  enunciate  it. 

The  characters  employed  in  written  language  are  the  following : 


The  Comma, 

} 

The  Hyphen, 

The  Semicolon, 

'} 

The  Breve, 

The  Colon, 

The  Apostrophe, 

The  Period, 

The  Dash, 



The  Brace, 

The  Exclamation, 

! 

The  Acute  Accent, 

The  Interrogation, 

? 

The  Grave  Accent, 

The  Quotation  Marks, 

IC    " 

The  Circumflex  Accent, 

i\ 

The  Diajresis, 

The  Caret, 

A 

The  Crotchets, 

C) 

The  Cedilla, 

5 

The  Brackets, 

[] 

The  Asterisk, 

* 

INTRODUCTION. 


The  Obelisk  or  Dagger,  f 

The  Double  Obelisk  or  Double 


Dagger,  ' 


The  Section,  $ 

The  Paragraph,  % 


The  Parallels,  || 

The  Ellipsis,  sometimes  expressed  by  Periods,  thus,  

«<         "        sometimes  by  Hyphens,  thus,  

"         "        sometimes  by  Asterisks  or  Stars,  thus,  ##*### 

"         "        sometimes  by  a  Dash  prolonged,  thus, 

These  characters,  when  judiciously  employed,  ^  the  meaning  and 
give  precision  to  the  signification  of  sentences,  which,  in  a  written  form, 
would  be  ambiguous  or  indefinite  without  them.  Thus,  "  I  said  that  he 
is  dishonest  it  is  true  and  I  am  sorry  for  it."  Now  the  meaning  of  this 
sentence  can  be  ascertained  only  by  a  correct  punctuation.  If  it  be 
punctuated  as  follows :  "  I  said  that  he  is  dishonest,  it  is  true,  and  I 
am  sorry  for  it ;"  the  meaning  will  be,  that  it  is  true  that  I  said  he  was 
dishonest,  and  I  am  sorry  that  I  said  so.  But  if  it  be  punctuated  thus, 
"  I  said  that  he  was  dishonest ;  it  is  true ;  and  I  am  sorry  for  it ;"  the 
meaning  will  be,  I  said  that  he  was  dishonest ;  it  is  true  that  he  was 
dishonest,  and  I  am  sorry  that  he  was  so. 

Again,  the  following  sentence,  as  here  punctuated,  is  an  innocent  re- 
mark :  "  Believing  Richard  Brothers  to  be  a  prophet  sent  by  God,  I  have 
painted  his  portrait."  But  the  sentence  as  it  was  originally  written  by 
its  author,  with  the  comma  after  sent,  instead  of  after  God,  was  a  piece 
of  horrid  profanity. 

A  further  instance  of  the  importance  of  correct  punctuation  was 
afibrded  by  a  late  advertisement,  in  which  the  commissioner  for  lighting 
one  of  the  most  commercial  cities  of  Europe,  by  the  misplacing  of  a 
comma  in  his  advertisement,  would  have  contracted  for  the  supply  of 
but  half  the  required  light.  The  advertisement  represented  the  lamps 
as  "  4050  in  number,  having  two  spouts  each,  composed  of  not  less  than 
twenty  threads  of  cotton."  This  expression  implied  that  the  lamps  had 
each  two  spouts,  and  that  the  two  spouts  had  twenty  threads,  that  is, 
each  spout  had  ten  threads.  But  the  meaning  that  the  commissioner 
intended  to  convey  was,  that  each  spout  had  twenty  threads ;  and  his 
adverliseraent  should  have  had  the  comma  after  "5;jot//5,"  instead  of 
after  " cacJt,"  thus:  The  lamps  have  two  spouts,  each  composed  of 
twenty  threads,  &c. 

These  instances  will  suffice  to  illustrate  the  nature  and  the  importance 
of  correct  punctuation. 

But  although  the  meaning  of  a  sentence  is  thus  materially  affected  by 
the  punctuation,  it  will  be  seen  in  the  following  lessons  that  the  punc- 
tuation alone  is  an  unsafe  guide  to  follow  in  the  enunciation  of  any 
collection  of  words.  For,  in  many  cases,  these  marks  indicate  no  pause, 
emphasis,  or  other  remarkable  circumstance  requiring  notice  in  the  enun- 
ciation of  the  sentence.     [See  Lesson  IX.,  latter  part.] 

The  nature  of  the  marks  used  in  written  language  may  also  be  under- 
stood by  a  reference  to  the  origin  of  their  names. 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

The  word  Comma  is  derived  from  the  Greek  language,  and  properly 
designates  a  segment,  section,  or  part  cut  off  from  a  complete  sentence. 
In  its  usual  acceptation,  it  signifies  the  point  which  marks  the  smaller 
segments  or  portions  of  a  period.  It  therefore  represents  the  shortest 
pause,  and  consequently  marks  the  least  constructive,  or  most  dependent 
parts  of  a  sentence. 

The  word  colon  is  from  the  Greek,  and  signifies  a  member,  and  the 
Latin  prefix  semi  means  half.  A  Semicolon  is  used  for  the  purpose  of 
pointing  out  those  parts  of  a  compound  sentence,  which,  although  they 
each  constitute  a  distinct  proposition,  have  yet  a  dependence  upon  each 
other,  or  on  some  common  clause. 

The  Colon  is  used  to  divide  a  sentence  into  two  or  more  parts,  which, 
although  the  sense  be  complete  in  each,  are  not  independent. 

The  word  Period  is  derived  from  the  Greek,  and  means  a  circuit. 
When  the  circuit  of  the  sense  is  completed,  with  all  its  relations,  the 
mark  bearing  this  name  is  used  to  denote  this  completion. 

The  word  Interrogation  is  derived  from  the  Latin,  and  means  a  ques 
tion. 

The  word  Exclamation  is  from  the  same  language,  and  means  a  pas 
sionate  utterance. 

The  word  Parenthesis  is  derived  from  the  Greek  language,  and  means 
an  insertion.  A  sentence,  clause,  or  phrase,  inserted  between  the  parts 
of  another  sentence  for  the  purpose  of  explanation,  or  of  calling  particu- 
lar attention,  is  properly  called  a  parenthesis. 

It  is  to  be  remarked,  however,  that  the  name  parenthesis  belongs  only 
to  the  sentence  inserted  between  brackets  or  crotchets,  and  not  to  those 
marks  themselves. 

The  word  Hyphen  is  derived  from  the  Greek  language,  and  signifies 
under  one,  that  is,  together;  and  is  used  to  imply  that  the  letters  or  sylla 
bles  between  which  it  is  placed  are  to  be  taken  together  as  one  word. 

The  hyphen,  when  placed  over  a  vowel,  to  indicate  the  long  sound  oi 
the  vowel,  is  called  the  Macron,  from  the  Greek,  signifying  long. 

The  mark  called  a  Breve,  indicating  the  short  sound  of  the  vowel,  is 
from  the  Latin,  signifying  short. 

The  word  Ellipsis,  also  from  the  Greek,  means  an  omission,  and  prop- 
erly refers  to  the  words,  the  members,  or  the  sentences  which  are  omitted, 
and  not  to  the  marks  which  indicate  the  omission. 

The  word  Apostrophe,  also  from  the  Greek,  signifies  the  turning  arcay, 
or  the  omission  of  one  letter  or  more.* 

The  word  Diceresis  is  also  from  the  Greek,  and  signifies  the  taking 
apart,  or  the  separation  of  the  vowels,  which  would  otherwise  be  pro- 
nounced as  one  syllable. 

The  term  Accent  is  derived  from  the  Latin  language,  and  implies  the 
tone  of  the  voice  with  which  a  word  or  syllable  is  to  be  pronounced. 


*  The  word  Apostrophe,  as  hera  used,  must  not  be  confoimded  with  the  same  word  aa 
the  name  of  a  rhetorical  figure. 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

The  word  Section,  derived  also  from  the  Latin,  signifies  a  cutting,  or 
a  division.  The  character  which  denotes  a  section  seems  to  be  com- 
posed of  ss,  and  to  be  an  abbreviation  of  the  words  signum  sectionis,  or 
the  sign  of  a  section.  This  character,  which  was  formerly  used  as  the 
sign  of  the  division  of  a  discourse,  is  now  rarely  used  except  as  a  refer- 
ence to  a  note  at  the  bottom  of  the  page. 

The  word  Paragraph  is  derived  from  the  Greek  language,  and  signi- 
fies an  ascription  in  the  margin.  This  mark,  like  that  of  the  section, 
was  formerly  used  to  designate  those  divisions  of  a  section  which  are 
now  indicated  by  unfinished  lines  or  blank  spaces.  This  mark,  as  well 
as  the  section,  is  now  rarely  used  except  as  a  reference. 

It  may  further  be  remarked,  that  notes  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  on 
the  margin,  or  at  the  end  of  the  book,  are  often  indicated  by  figures,  or 
by  letters,  instead  of  the  marks  which  have  already  been  enumerated. 

The  word  Caret  is  from  the  Latin,  and  signifies  it  is  wanting.  This 
mark  is  used  only  in  manuscript. 

The  Cedilla  is  a  mark  placed  under  the  letters  c  and  g  to  indicate  the 
soft  sound  of  those  letters. 

The  Asterisk,  Obelisk,  Double  Obelisk,  and  Parallels,  with  the  section 
and  paragraph,  are  merely  arbitrary  marks  to  call  attention  to  the  notes 
at  the  bottom  of  the  page. 

As  these  marks  which  have  now  been  enumerated  all  have  a  meaning, 
and  are  employed  for  some  special  purpose,  it  is  recommended  to  the 
teacher  never  to  allow  the  pupil  to  pass  by  them  without  being  assured 
that  he  or  she  understands  what  that  purpose  is.  Correct  and  tasteful 
reading  can  never  be  attained  without  a  full  appreciation  of  the  meaning 
which  the  author  intended  to  convey ;  and  that  meaning  is  often  to  be 
ascertained  by  the  arbitrary  marks  employed  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
definiteness  to  an  expression.  At  the  same  time  the  teacher  should  be 
careful  that  the  pupil  shall  consider  these  marks  as  his  guide  to  the 
meaning  only,  not  to  the  enunciation,  of  a  sentence.  Correct  delivery 
must  be  left  to  the  guidance  of  taste  and  judgment  only. 

In  many  excellent  selections  for  lessons  in  reading,  the  pieces  have 
been  arranged  in  regular  order,  according  to  the  nature  of  their  respective 
subjects,  under  the  heads  of  Narrative,  Descriptive,  Didactic,  Argument- 
ative and  Pathetic  pieces,  Public  Speeches,  Promiscuous  pieces,  the 
Eloquence  of  the  Bar,  of  the  Pulpit,  and  of  the  Forum. 

By  Narrative  pieces  is  meant  those  pieces  only  which  contain  a  simple 
narration.  Descriptive  pieces  are  those  in  which  something  is  described. 
Didactic  pieces  are  those  designed  to  convey  some  particular  kind  of 
instruction,  whether  moral,  religious,  or  scientific.  Argumentative 
pieces  are  those  in  which  some  truth  is  designed  to  be  proved.  Pathetic 
pieces  are  those  by  which  the  feelings  of  pity,  love,  admiration  and  other 
passions,  are  excited.  Promiscuous  pieces  are  those  which  fall  under 
none  of  the  classes  which  have  been  enumerated,  or  consist  of  a  mixture 
of  those  classes.     The  Eloquence  of  the  Bnr  consists  of  speeches  (or 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

phas,  as  they  are  technically  called)  made  by  distinguished  lawyers  in 
the  courts  of  justice  in  favor  of  or  against  a  supposed  criminal.  The 
Eloquence  of  the  Pulpit  consists  of  sermons  or  discourses  delivered  on 
religious  occasions.  The  Eloquence  of  the  Forum  consists  in  the 
speeches,  addresses,  orations,  ficc,  addressed  to  political  or  promiscuous 
assemblies. 

To  many,  this  information  may  seem  superfluous  or  puerile.  But  as 
this  volume  is  designed  for  the  young  and  the  unlettered,  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  their  sources  of  information  are  few,  and  that  they  will 
not  always  take  the  pains  to  inform  themselves  of  the  meaning  of  words, 
even  when  they  are  familiar  to  their  eyes  in  capital  letters,  and  in  the 
running  titles  of  the  books  before  them  every  day.  It  is  often  the  case, 
that  the  teacher  also,  taking  for  granted  that  his  pupils  are  familiar  with 
the  meaning  of  words  so  often  presented  to  their  eyes,  neglects  to  ques- 
tion them  on  the  subject ;  and  in  riper  years  it  becomes  a  matter  of 
surprise  to  the  pupil  himself,  that,  in  early  life,  words  which  he  had 
heard  sounded  almost  every  day  at  school  presented  no  idea  to  his  mind 
beyond  that  of  an  unmeaning,  or  rather  an  unintelligible  sound. 

The  object  of  all  education  is  not  so  much  to  fill  the  mind  with  knowl- 
edge as  to  strengthen  its  powers,  and  enlarge  its  capacity.  Those  exer- 
cises, therefore,  are  always  most  beneficial,  in  all  education,  which  tend 
most  effectually  to  this  result.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  branch  of  study 
connected  with  popular  education,  which,  when  properly  pursued, 
is  more  highly  subservient  to  this  end  than  the  study  of  correct 
and  tasteful  reading,  as  an  art.  It  necessarily  involves  a  complete 
knowledge  of  the  subject  to  be  read,  the  relation  and  dependences  of 
the  phrases,  clauses,  and  members  of  the  sentences,  the  proper  mean- 
ing of  the  words  employed,  and  the  connexion  between  the  sentences 
themselves.  This  cannot  be  acquired  without  a  vigorous  employment 
of  the  perceptive  powers,  aided  by  those  of  comparison,  of  analysis,  of 
reasoning,  of  judgment,  of  taste,  and  of  discrimination.  Subordinate 
and  auxiliary  to  the  acquisition  of  this  important  art,  on  the  part  of  the 
pupil,  it  is  here  recommended  that  the  teacher  should  exercise  also  the 
power  of  classification,  by  requiring  his  pupils,  while  studying  a  reading 
lesson,  (which,  by  the  way,  always  should  be  studied,  previous  to  practis- 
ing it,)  to  ascertain  and  to  inform  his  teacher  under  which  of  the  above 
mentioned  classes,  whether  narrative,  descriptive,  didactic,  &c.,  the  piece 
he  is  about  to  read  belongs.  The  teacher  who  thus  employs  the  faculties 
of  his  pupils  cannot  fail  to  see  a  vigorous  growth  of  intellect  springing 
up  under  his  culture,  and  will  be  amply  compensated  for  such  mortifica- 
tions as  may  occasionally  arise  during  formal  examinations,  from  the 
treachery  of  the  youthful  memory,  or  the  want  of  a  proper  command 
over  its  stores. 

One  of  the  best  selections  of  reading  lessons  which  has  been  in  use 
in  the  common  schools  of  this  country  is  that  of  Blr.  Lindley  Murray, 
called  "  The  English  Reader."     Whether  estimated  by  its  moral  and 


INTHODUCTION.  13 

religious  tone,  or  by  the  taste  and  beauty  of  the  selections,  it  must 
equally  command  the  approbation  of  all  to  whom  the  subject  of  educa- 
tion is  consigned.  It  is  true  that  the  compiler  had  not  learnt  the  modern 
art  of  selecting  from  the  productions  of  editors,  members  of  school  com 
mittees,  and  others,  whose  vanity  might,  perhaps,  aid  the  circulation  of 
his  work,  —  but  he  has  made  ample  amends  for  this  kind  of  neglect,  by 
presenting  the  choicest  gems  of  English  literature,  selected  from  the 
brightest  stars  of  that  galaxy  familiarly  known  as  the  British  classics. 
His  introductory  tract,  for  many  of  the  observations  in  which  he  has 
acknowledged  his  indebtedness  to  Dr.  Blair  and  to  the  Encyclopedia 
Britannica,  contains  so  much  valuable  instruction  on  the  art  of  reading, 
that  the  author  of  this  work  is  persuaded  that  he  cannot  render  better 
service  than  by  presenting  it  entire.  Many  of  the  suggestions,  it  will  be 
seen,  are  followed  out  in  the  introductory  lessons  in  this  volume;  but  as 
all  information  becomes  the  heller  Jixedhy  repetition,  such  repetition  will, 
to  say  the  least,  be  pardonable,  even  though  it  may  be  deemed  superfluous. 

"OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  GOOD  READING. 

"  To  read  with  propriety  is  a  pleasing  and  important  attainment , 
productive  of  improvement  both  to  the  understanding  and  the  heart.  It 
is  essential  to  a  complete  reader,  that  he  minutely  perceive  the  ideas, 
and  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  author,  whose  sentiments  he  professes 
to  repeat :  for  how  is  it  possible  to  represent  clearly  to  others,  what  we 
have  but  faint  or  inaccurate  conception  of  ourselves  ?  If  there  were  no 
other  benefits  resulting  from  the  art  of  reading  well,  than  the  necessity 
it  lays  us  under  of  precisely  ascertaining  the  meaning  of  what  we  read, 
and  the  habit  thence  acquired  of  doing  this  with  facility,  both  when 
reading  silently  and  aloud,  they  would  constitute  a  sufficient  compensa- 
tion for  all  the  labor  we  can  bestow  upon  the  subject.  But  the  pleasure 
derived  to  ourselves  and  others  from  a  clear  communication  of  ideas 
and  feelings,  and  the  strong  and  durable  impressions  made  thereby  on 
the  minds  of  the  reader  and  the  audience,  are  considerations  which  give 
additional  importance  to  the  study  of  this  necessary  and  useful  art. 
The  perfect  attainment  of  it  doubtless  requires  great  attention  and  prac- 
tice, joined  to  extraordinary  natural  powers ;  but  as  there  are  many 
degrees  of  excellence  in  the  art,  the  student  whose  aims  fall  short  of 
perfection  will  find  himself  amply  rewarded  for  every  exertion  he  may 
think  proper  to  make. 

"To  give  rules  for  the  management  of  the  voice  in  reading,  by  which 
ihe  necessary  pauses,  emphasis,  and  tones,  may  be  discovered  and  put 
in  practice,  is  not  possible.  After  all  the  directions  that  can  be  offered 
on  these  points,  much  will  remain  to  be  taught  by  the  living  instructer  : 
much  will  be  attainable  by  no  other  means  than  the  force  of  example, 
influencing  the  imitative  powers  of  the  learner.  Some  rules  and  princi- 
ples on  these  heads  will,  however,  be  found  useful,  to  prevent  erroneous 
and  vicious  modes  of  utterance ;  to  give  the  young  reader  some  taste 
for  the  subject ;  and  to  assist  him  in  acquiring  a  just  and  accurate  mode 
of  delivery.  The  observations  which  we  have  to  make,  for  these  pur- 
poses, may  be  comprised  under  the  following  heads :  Proper  Loudness 
of  Voice;  Distinctness;  Slowness;  Propriety  of  Pronunciation  ;  Emphasis; 
Tones  ;  Pauses  ;  and  Mode  of  Reading  Verse. 
2 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

"PROPER    LOUDNESS    OF    VOICE. 

"  The  first  attention  of  every  person  who  reads  to  otiiers,  doubtless, 
must  be  to  make  himself  heard  by  all  those  to  whom  he  reads.  He 
must  endeavor  to  fill  with  his  voice  the  space  occupied  by  the  comi^any. 
This  power  of  voice,  it  may  be  thought,  is  wholly  a  natural  talent.  It 
is,  in  a  good  measure,  the  gift  of  nature ;  but  it  may  receive  considerable 
assistance  from  art.  Much  depends,  for  this  purpose,  on  the  proper  pitch 
and  management  of  the  voice.  Every  person  has  three  pitches  in  his 
voice  ;  the  high,  the  middle,  and  the  low  one.  The  high  is  that  which 
he  uses  in  calling  aloud  to  some  person  at  a  distance.  The  low  is  when 
be  approaches  to  a  whisper.  The  middle  is  that  which  he  employs  in 
common  conversation,  and  which  he  should  generally  use  in  reading  to 
others.  For  it  is  a  great  mistake,  to  imagine  that  one  must  take  the 
highest  pitch  of  his  voice,  in  order  to  be  well  heard  in  a  large  company. 
This  is  confounding  two  things  which  are  different  —  loudness  or  strength 
of  sound,  with  the  key  or  note  in  which  we  speak.  There  is  a  variety 
of  sound  within  the  compass  of  each  key.  A  speaker  may,  therefore, 
render  his  voice  louder,  without  altering  the  key  ;  and  we  shall  always 
be  able  to  give  most  body,  most  persevering  force  of  sound,  to  that  pitch 
of  voice  to  which  in  conversation  we  are  accustomed.  "Whereas  by 
setting  out  on  our  highest  pitch  or  key,  we  certainly  allow  ourselves  less 
compass,  and  are  likely  to  strain  our  voice  before  we  have  done.  We 
shall  fatigue  ourselves,  and  read  with  pain ;  and  whenever  a  person 
speaks  with  pain  to  himself,  he  is  always  heard  with  pain  by  his 
audience.  Let  us,  therefore,  give  the  voice  full  strength  and  swell  of 
sound ;  but  always  pitch  it  on  our  ordinary  speaking  key.  It  should  be 
a  constant  rule  never  to  utter  a  greater  quantity  of  voice  than  we  can 
afford  without  pain  to  ourselves,  and  without  any  extraordinary  effort. 
As  long  as  we  keep  within  these  bounds,  the  other  organs  of  speech  will 
be  at  liberty  to  discharge  their  several  offices  with  ease ;  and  we  shall 
always  have  our  voice  under  command.  But  whenever  we  transgress 
these  bounds,  we  give  up  the  reins,  and  have  no  longer  any  manage- 
ment of  it.  It  is  a  useful  rule  too,  in  order  to  be  well  heard,  to  cast  our 
eye  on  some  of  the  most  distant  persons  in  the  company,  and  to  con- 
sider ourselves  as  reading  to  them.  We  naturally  and  mechanically 
utter  our  words  with  such  a  degree  of  strength  as  to  make  ourselves  be 
heard  by  the  person  whom  we  address,  provided  he  is  within  the  reach 
of  our  voice.  As  this  is  the  case  in  conversation,  it  will  hold  also  in 
reading  to  others.  But  let  us  remember,  that  in  reading,  as  well  as  in 
conversation,  it  is  possible  to  offend  by  speaking  too  loud.  This  extreme 
hurts  the  ear,  by  making  the  voice  come  upon  it  in  rumbling,  indistinct 
masses. 

•'  By  the  habit  of  reading,  when  young,  in  a  loud  and  vehement  man- 
ner, the  voice  becomes  fixed  in  a  strained  and  unnatural  key ;  and  is 
rendered  incapable  of  that  variety  of  elevation  and  depression  which 
constitutes  the  true  harmony  of  utterance,  and  affords  ease  to  the  reader, 
and  pleasure  to  the  audience.  This  unnatural  pitch  of  the  voice,  and 
disagreeable  monotony,  are  most  observable  in  persons  who  were  taught 
to  read  in  large  rooms ;  who  were  accustomed  to  stand  at  too  great  a 
distance,  when  reading  to  their  teachers ;  whose  instructers  were  very 
imperfect  in  their  hearing;  or  who  were  taught  by  persons  who  con- 
sidered loud  expression  as  the  chief  requisite  in  forming  a  good  reader. 
These  are  circumstances  which  demand  the  serious  attention  of  every 
one  to  whom  the  education  of  youth  is  committed. 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

"distinctness. 

"In  the  next  place,  to  being  well  heard  and  clearly  understood,  dis- 
tinctness of  articulation  contributes  more  than  mere  loudness  of  sound. 
The  quantity  of  sound  necessary  to  fill  even  a  large  space  is  smaller 
than  IS  commonly  imagined ;  and,  with  distinct  articulation,  a  person 
with  a  weak  voice  will  make  it  reach  further  than  the  strongest  voice 
can  reach  without  it.  To  this,  therefore,  every  reader  ought  to  pay  great 
attention.  He  must  give  every  sound  which  he  utters  its  due  propor- 
tion ;  and  make  every  syllable,  and  even  every  letter,  in  the  word  which 
he  pronounces,  be  heard  distinctly:  without  slurring,  whispering,  or 
suppressing,  any  of  the  proper  sounds. 

"An  accurate  knowledge  of  the  simple,  elementary  sounds  of  the  lan- 
guage, and  a  facility  in  expressing  them,  are  so  necessary  to  distinctness 
of  expression,  that  if  the  learner's  attainments  are,  in  this  respect,  im- 
perfect, (and  many  there  are  in  this  situation.)  it  will  be  incumbent  on 
his  teacher  to  carry  him  back  to  these  priniary  aniculations ;  and  to 
suspend»his  progress  till  he  become  perfectly  master  of  them.  It  will 
be  in  vain  to  press  him  forward,  with  the  hope  of  forming  a  good  reader, 
if  he  cannot  completely  articulate  every  elementary  sound  of  the  lan- 
gqage. 

"due  degree  of  slowness. 

"  In  order  to  express  ourselves  distinctly,  moderation  is  requisite  with 
regard  to  the  speed  of  pronouncing.  Precipitancy  of  speech  confounds 
all  articulation,  and  all  meaning.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  observe, 
that  there  may  be  also  an  extreme  on  the  opposite  side.  It  is  obvious 
that  a  lifeless,  drawling  manner  of  reading,  which  allows  the  minds  of 
the  hearers  to  be  always  outrunning  the  speaker,  must  render  every 
such  performance  insipid  and  fatiguing.  But  the  extreme  of  reading 
too  fast  is  much  more  common ;  and  requires  the  more  to  be  guarded 
against,  because,  when  it  has  grown  into  a  habit,  few  errors  are  more 
difficult  to  be  corrected.  To  pronounce  with  a  proper  degree  of  slow- 
ness, and  with  full  and  clear  articulation,  is  necessary  to  be  studied  by 
all,  who  wish  to  become  good  readers ;  and  it  cannot  be  too  much 
recommended  to  them.  Such  a  pronunciation  gives  weight  and  dignity 
to  the  subject.  It  is  a  great  assistance  to  the  voice,  by  the  pauses  and 
rests  which  it  allows  the  reader  more  easily  to  make  :  and  it  enables  the 
reader  to  swell  all  his  sounds,  both  with  more  force  and  more  harmony. 

"PROPRIETY    OF    PRONUNCIATION. 

"After  the  fundamental  attentions  to  the  pitch  and  management  of 
tlie  voice,  to  distinct  articulation,  and  to  a  proper  degree  of  slowness  of 
spoech,  what  the  young  reader  must,  in  the  next  place,  study,  is  pro- 
priety of  pronunciation ;  or,  giving  to  every  word  which  he  utters  that 
sound  which  the  best  usage  of  the  language  appropriates  to  it ;  in  oppo- 
sition to  broad,  vulgar,  or  provincial  pronunciation.  This  is  requisite 
both  for  reading  intelligibly,  and  for  reading  with  correctness  and  ease. 
Instructions  concerning  this  article  may  be  best  given  by  the  living 
teacher.  But  there  is  one  observation,  which  it  may  not  be  improper 
here  to  make.  In  the  English  language,  every  word  which  consists  of 
more  syllables  than  one  has  one  accented  syllable.  The  accents  rest 
sometimes  on  the  vowel,  sometimes  on  the  consonant.  The  genius  of 
the  language  requires  the  voice  to  mark  that  syllable  by  a  stronger 
percussion,  and  to  pass  more  slightly  over  the  rest.'  Now,  after  we  have 


16  INTRODUCTION. 

learned  the  proper  seats  of  these  accents,  it  is  an  important  rule,  to 
give  every  word  just  the  same  accent  in  reading  as  in  common  dis- 
course. Many  persons  err  in  this  respect.  When  they  read  to  others 
and  with  solemnity,  they  pronounce  the  syllables  in  a  different  manner 
from  what  they  do  at  other  times.  They  dwell  upon  them  and  protract 
them ;  they  multiply  accents  on  the  same  word,  from  a  mistaken  notion, 
that  it  gives  gravity  and  importance  to  their  subject,  and  adds  to  the 
energy  of  their  delivery.  Whereas  this  is  one  of  the  greatest  faults  that 
can  be  committed  in  pronunciation  :  it  makes  what  is  called  a  pompous 
or  mouthing  manner,  and  gives  an  artificial,  affected  air  to  reading,  which 
detracts  greatly  both  from  its  agreeableness  and  its  impression. 

''  Sheridan  and  Walker  have  published  dictionaries  for  ascertaining 
the  true  and  best  pronunciation  of  the  words  of  our  language.  By 
attentively  consuhing  them,  particularly  'Walker's  Pronouncing  Dic- 
tionary,' the  young  reader  will  be  much'  assisted  in  his  endeavors  to 
attain  a  correct  pronunciation  of  the  words  belonging  to  the  English 
language.* 

'<  EMPHASIS.  * 

"By  emphasis  is  meant  a  stronger  and  fuller  sound  of  voice,  by 
which  we  distinguish  some  word,  or  words,  on  which  we  design  to  lay 
particular  stress,  and  to  show  how  they  affect  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 
Sometimes  the  emphatic  words  must  be  distinguished  by  a  particular 
tone  of  voice,  as  well  as  by  a  particular  stress.  On  the  right  manage- 
ment of  the  emphasis  depends  the  life  of  pronunciation.  If  no  emphasis 
be  placed  on  any  words,  not  only  is  discourse  rendered  heavy  and  life- 
less, but  the  meaning  is  often  left  ambiguous.  If  the  emphasis  be 
placed  wrong,  we  pervert  and  confound  the  meaning  wholly. 

<'  Emphasis  may  be  divided  into  the  Superior  and  the  Inferior  emphasis . 
The  superior  emphasis  determines  the  meaning  of  a  sentence,  with  refer- 
ence to  something  said  before,  presupposed  by  the  author  as  generai. 
knowledge,  or  removes  an  ambiguity,  where  a  passage  may  have  more 
senses  than  one.  The  inferior  emphasis  enforces,  graces,  and  enlivens, 
but  does  xioi  fix,  the  meaning  of  any  passage.  The  words  to  which  this 
latter  emphasis  is  given  are,  in  general,  such  as  seem  the  most  import- 
ant in  the  sentence,  or,  on  other  accounts,  to  merit  this  distinction.  The 
following  passage  will  serve  to  exemplify  the  superior  emphasis. 

'  Of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit 
Of  that  forbidden  tree,  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe,'  &c. 

*  Sing,  heavenly  Muse ! ' 

"  Supposing  that  originally  other  beings  besides  men  had  disobeyed 
the  commands  of  the  Almighty,  and  that  the  circumstance  were  well 
known  to  us.  there  would  fall  an  emphasis  upon  the  word  man's  in  the 
first  line ;  and  hence  it  would  read  thus  : 

'  Of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit,'  &c. 

"  Btit  if  it  were  a  notorious  truth,  that  mankind  had  transgressed  in 

*  This  remark  must  now  be  received,  in  this  country  at  leist,  with  some  qii.ilifica- 
tion.  Mr.  Wnlker  has  lost  the  confidence  which  is  established  by  usage,  and  we  have 
no  work  which  professes  to  supply  his  place,  so  (ar  as  pronunciation  alone  is  coDcerned. 
As  a  guide  to  the  siirnificatinn  of  words,  and  the  tracing  of  their  etymology,  the  Dic- 
tionary of  Dr.  Webster  is  of  the  highest  authority,  and  has  received  the  approbation  of 
critics  in  the  mother  country,  as  well  as  in  this.  Dr.  Wel)ster  has  spent  a  long  life  in 
'he  investigation  of  authorities,  and  probably  no  one  individual  has  labored  longer  or 
'ith  equal  success  in  this  department  of  literature. 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

a  peculiar  manner  more  than  once,  the  emphasis  would  fall  on  first  ; 
and  the  line  be  read, 

*  Of  man's  first  disobedience,'  &c. 

"  Again,  admitting  death  (as  was  really  the  case)  to  have  been  an 
unheard-of  and  dreadful  punishment,  brought  upon  man  in  consequence 
of  his  transgression ;  on  that  supposition,  the  third  line  would  be  read, 
'  Brought  death  into  the  world,'  &c. 

"  But  if  we  were  to  suppose  that  mankind  knew  there  was  such  an  evil 
as  death  in  other  regions,  though  the  place  they  inhabited  had  been  free 
from  it  till  their  transgression,  the  line  would  run  thus : 
'  Brought  death  into  the  world,'  &c. 

"  The  superior  emphasis  finds  place  in  the  following  short  sentence, 
which  admits  of  four  distinct  meanings,  each  of  which  is  ascertained  by 
the  emphasis  only. 

'  Do  you  ride  to  town  to-day  ? ' 

[See  Lessvn  XXIL] 

"  The  following  examples  illustrate  the  nature  and  use  of  the  inferior 
emphasis : 

" 'Many  persons  mistake  the  love,  for  the  practice  of  virtue.' 

"  '  Shall  I  reward  his  services  with  Falsehood  ?  Shall  I  forget  him  who 
cannot  forget  me  ?' 

" '  If  his  principles  are  false,  no  apology  from  himself  can  make  them 
right;  if  founded  in  truth,  no  censure  from  others  can  make  them 
wrong.' 

" '  Though  deep,  yet  clear ;  though  gentle,  yet  not  dull ; 
Strong  without  rage;  without  o'erfiowing,  full.* 

" '  A  friend  exaggerates  a  man's  virtues  ;  an  enemy,  his  crimes.'' 

" '  The  rvise  man  is  happy  when  he  gains  his  own  approbation ;  the 
fool,  when  he  gains  that  of  others? 

"  The  superior  emphasis,  in  reading  as  in  speaking,  must  be  deter- 
mined entirely  by  the  sense  of  the  passage,  and  always  made  alike ;  but 
as  to  the  inferior  emphasis,  taste  alone  seems  to  have  the  right  of  fixing 
its  situation  and  quantity. 

'<  Among  the  number  of  persons  who  have  had  proper  opportunities 
of  learning  to  read,  in  the  best  manner  it  is  now  taught,  very  few  could 
be  selected,  who,  in  a  given  instance,  would  use  the  inferior  emphasis 
alike,  either  as  to  place  or  quantity.  Some  persons,  indeed,  use  scarcely 
any  degree  of  it ;  and  others  do  not  scruple  to  carry  it  far  beyond  any- 
thing to  be  found  in  common  discourse;  and  even  sometimes  throw  it 
upon  words  so  very  trifling  in  themselves,  that  it  is  evidently  done  with 
no  other  view  than  to  give  a  greater  variety  to  the  modulation.*  Not- 
withstanding this  diversity  of  practice,  there  are  certainly  proper  bounda- 
ries, within  which  this  emphasis  must  be  restrained,  in  order  to  make  it 
meet  the  approbation  of  sound  judgment  and  correct  taste.  It  will, 
doubtless,  have  different  degrees  of  exertion,  according  to  the  greater  or 

*  By  modulation  is  meant,  that  pleasing  variety  of  voice  which  is  perceived  in  utter- 
ing a  sentence,  and  which  in  its  nature  is  perlecily  distinct  from  emphasis,  and  the 
tones  of  emotion  and  passion.  The  young  reader  should  be  careful  to  render  his  modu- 
lation correct  and  easy  :  and,  for  this  purpose,  should  form  it  upon  the  model  of  the  inoisl 
jiidicioiui  n:id  accurue  sjxvikors. 

2# 


18  IWTRODUGTION. 

less  degree  of  importance  of  the  words  upon  which  it  operates ;  and 
there  may  be  very  properly  some  variety  in  the  use  of  it :  but  its  appli- 
cation is  not  arbitrary,  depending  on  the  caprice  of  readers. 

"  As  emphasis  often  falls  on  words  in  different  parts  of  the  same  sen- 
tence, so  it  is  frequently  required  to  be  continued,  with  a  little  variation, 
on  two,  and  sometimes  more  words  together.  The  following  sentences 
exemplify  both  the  parts  of  this  position :  '  If  you  seek  to  make  one 
rich,  study  not  to  increase  his  stores,  but  to  diminish  his  desires?  'The 
Mexican  figures,  or  picture-writing,  represent  things,  not  words :  they 
exhibit  images  to  the  eye,  not  ideas  to  the  understanding." 

"  Some  sentences  are  so  full  and  comprehensive,  that  almost  every 
word  is  emphatical :  as,  '  Ye  hills  and  dales,  ye  rivers,  woods,  and 
plains ! '  or,  as  that  pathetic  expostulation  in  the  prophecy  of  Ezekiel, 
'  Why  will  ye  die  ! ' 

"  Emphasis,  besides  its  other  offices,  is  the  great  regulator  of  quantity. 
Though  the  quantity  of  our  syllables  is  fixed,  in  words  separately  pro- 
nounced, yet  it  is  mutable  when  these  words  are  arranged  in  sentences ; 
the  long  being  changed  into  short,  the  short  into  long,  according  to  the 
importance  of  the  word  with  regard  to  meaning.  Emphasis  also,  in 
particular  cases,  alters  the  seat  of  the  accent.  This  is  demonstrable 
from  the  following  examples.  '  He  shall  wfcrease,  but  I  shall  tfecrease.' 
'  There  is  a  difference  between  giving  and  /orgiving.'  '  In  this  species 
of  composition,  plausWAWiy  is  much  more  essential  than  jjroiability.' 
In  these  examples,  the  emphasis  requires  the  accent  to  be  placed  on 
syllables  to  which  it  does  not  commonly  belong. 

''In  order  to  acquire  the  proper  management  of  the  emphasis,  the 
great  rule  to  be  given  is,  that  the  reader  study  to  attain  a  just  conception 
of  the  force  and  spirit  of  the  sentiments  which  he  is  to  pronounce.  For 
to  lay  the  emphasis  with  exact  propriety  is  a  constant  exercise  of  good 
p:ense  and  attention.  It  is  far  from  being  an  inconsiderable  attainment. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  decisive  trials  of  a  true  and  just  taste ;  and  must 
arise  from  feeling  delicately  ourselves,  and  from  judging  accurately  of 
what  is  fittest  to  strike  the  feeUngs  of  others. 

"  There  is  one  error,  against  which  it  is  particularly  proper  to  caution 
the  learner ;  namely,  that  of  multiplying  emphatical  words  too  much, 
and  using  the  emphasis  indiscriminately.  It  is  only  by  a  prudent 
reserve  and  distinction  in  the  use  of  them,  that  we  can  give  them  any 
weight.  If  they  recur  too  often  ;  if  a  reader  attempts  to  render  every 
thing  he  expresses  of  high  importance,  by  a  multitude  of  strong  em- 
phases, we  soon  learn  to  pay  little  regard  to  them.  To  crowd  every 
sentence  with  emphatical  words,  is  like  crowding  all  the  pages  of  a  book 
with  Italic  characters ;  which,  as  to  the  effect,  is  just  the  same  as  to  use 
no  such  distinctions  at  all. 

''tones. 

"  Tones  are  different  both  from  emphasis  and  pauses ;  consisting  m 
the  notes  or  variations  of  sound  which  we  employ  in  the  expression  of 
our  sentiments.  Emphasis  affects  particular  words  and  phrases,  with  a 
degree  of  tone  or  inflection  of  voice ;  but  tones,  peculiarly  so  called, 
affect  sentences,  paragraphs,  and  sometimes  even  the  whole  of  a  dis- 
course. 

"  To  show  the  use  and  necessity  of  tones,  we  need  only  observe,  that 
the  mind,  in  communicating  its  ideas,  is  in  a  constant  state  of  activity, 
emotion,  or  agitation,  from  the  difierent  effeets  which  those  ideas  pro- 


INTRODUCTION.  19 

duce  in  the  speaker.  Now  the  end  of  such  coinmunicatiuu  being  not 
merely  to  lay  open  the  ideas,  but  also  the  different  feelings  which  they 
excite  in  him  that  utters  them,  there  must  be  other  signs  than  words  to 
manifest  those  feelings ;  as  words  uttered  in  a  monotonous  manner  can 
represent  only  a  similar  state  of  mind,  perfectly  free  from  all  activity 
and  emotion.  As  the  communication  of  these  internal  feelings  was  of 
much  more  consequence  in  our  social  intercourse  than  the  mere  con- 
veyance of  ideas,  the  Author  of  our  being  did  not,  as  in  that  convey- 
ance, leave  the  invention  of  the  language  of  emotion  to  man,  but 
impressed  it  himself  upon  our  nature,  in  the  same  manner  as  he  has 
done  with  regard  to  the  rest  of  the  animal  world ;  all  of  which  express 
their  feelings  by  various  tones.  Ours,  indeed,  from  the  superior  rank 
that  we  hold,  are  in  a  high  degree  more  comprehensive ;  as  there  is  not 
an  act  of  the  mind,  an  exertion  of  the  fancy,  or  an  emotion  of  the  heart, 
which  has  not  its  peculiar  tone  or  note  of  the  voice,  by  which  it  is  to  be 
expressed ;  and  which  is  suited  exactly  to  the  degree  of  internal  feeling. 
It  is  chiefly  in  the  proper  use  of  these  tones,  that  the  Ufe,  spirit,  beauty, 
and  harmony  of  delivery  consist. 

"  The  limits  of  this  introduction  do  not  admit  of  examples  to  illustrate 
the  variety  of  tones  belonging  to  the  different  passions  and  emotions. 
We  shall,  however,  select  one,  which  is  extracted  from  the  beautiful 
lamentation  of  David  over  Saul  and  Jonathan ;  and  which  will  in  some 
degree  elucidate  what  has  been  said  on  this  subject. 

" '  The  beauty  of  Israel  is  slain  upon  thy  high  places ;  how  are  the 
mighty  fallen !  Tell  it  not  in  Gath ;  publish  it  not  in  the  streets  of 
Askelon ;  lest  the  daughters  of  the  PhiUstines  rejoice ;  lest  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  uncircumciscd  triumph.  Ye  mountains  of  Gilboa,  let  there 
be  no  dew  nor  rain  upon  you,  nor  fields  of  offerings  ;  for  there  the  shield 
of  the  mighty  was  vilely  cast  away ;  the  shield  of  Saul,  as  though  he 
had  not  been  anointed  with  oil.'  The  first  of  these  divisions  expresses 
sorrow  and  lamentation ;  therefore  the  note  is  low.  The  next  contains 
a  spirited  command,  and  should  be  pronounced  much  higher.  The  other 
sentence,  in  which  he  makes  a  pathetic  address  to  the  mountains  where 
his  friends  had  been  slain,  must  be  expressed  in  a  note  quite  diflerent 
from  the  two  former ;  not  so  low  as  the  first,  nor  so  high  as  the  second, 
but  in  a  manly,  firm,  yet  plaintive  tone. 

"  The  correct  and  natural  language  of  the  emotions  is  not  so  difiicull 
to  be  attained  as  most  readers  seem  to  imagine.  If  we  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  the  author's  sentiments,  as  well  as  into  the  meaning  of  his 
words,  we  shall  not  fail  to  deliver  the  words  in  properly  varied  tones. 
For  there  are  few  people  who  speak  English  without  a  provincial  note, 
that  have  not  an  accurate  use  of  tones,  when  they  utter  their  sentiments 
in  earnest  discourse.  And  the  reason  that  they  have  not  the  same  use 
of  them  in  reading  aloud  the  sentiments  of  others  may  be  traced  to  the 
very  defective  and  erroneous  method  in  which  the  art  of  reading  is 
taught ;  whereby  all  the  various,  natural,  expressive  tones  of  speech  are 
suppressed,  and  a  few  artificial,  unmeaning  reading  notes  are  substi- 
tuted for  them. 

"  But  when  we  recommend  to  readers  an  attention  to  the  tone  and 
lang  lage  of  emotions,  we  must  be  understood  to  do  it  with  proper  lim- 
itation. Moderation  is  necessary  in  this  point,  as  in  other  things.  For 
when  the  reading  becomes  strictly  imitative,  it  assumes  a  theatrical 
manner,  and  mu.st  be  highly  improper,  as  well  as  give  offence  to  the 
hearers,  because  it  is  inconsistent  with  that  deli«acy  and  modesty  which 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

are  indispensable  on  such  occasions.  The  speaker  who  delivers  his  own 
emotions  must  be  supposed  to  be  more  vivid  and  animated  than  would 
be  proper  in  the  person  who  relates  them  at  second  hand. 

"  We  shall  conclude  this  section  with  the  following  rule  for  the  tones 
that  indicate  the  passions  and  emotions  :  '  In  reading,  let  all  your  tones 
of  expression  be  borrowed  from  those  of  common  speech,  but,  in  some 
degree,  more  faintly  characterized.  Let  those  tones  which  signify  any 
disagreeable  passion  of  the  mind  be  still  more  faint  than  those  which 
indicate  agreeable  emotions :  and  on  all  occasions  preserve  yourselves 
from  being  so  far  affected  with  the  subject  as  to  be  unable  to  proceed 
through  it  with  that  easy  and  masterly  manner  which  has  its  good 
effects  in  this,  as  well  as  in  every  other  art.' 

"  PAUSES. 

"  Pauses  or  rests,  in  reading  or  speaking,  are  a  total  cessation  of  the 
voice,  during  a  perceptible,  and,  in  many  cases,  a  measurable  space  of 
time.  Pauses  are  equally  necessary  to  the  speaker  and  the  hearer.  To 
the  speaker,  that  he  may  take  breath,  without  which  he  cannot  proceed 
far  in  delivery ;  and  that  he  may,  by  these  temporary  rests,  relieve  the 
organs  of  speech,  which  otherwise  would  be  soon  tired  by  continued 
action  ;  to  the  hearer,  that  the  ear  also  may  be  reheved  from  the  fatigue 
which  it  would  otherwise  endure  from  a  continuity  of  sound  ;  and  that 
the  understanding  may  have  sufficient  time  to  mark  the  distinction  of 
sentences,  and  their  several  members. 

"  There  are  two  kinds  of  pauses  :  first,  emphatical  pauses ;  and  next, 
such  as  mark  the  distinctions  of  sense.  An  emphatical  pause  is  gener- 
ally made  after  something  has  been  said  of  peculiar  moment,  and  on 
which  we  desire  to  fix  the  hearer's  attention.  Sometimes,  before  such  a 
thing  is  said,  we  usher  it  in  with  a  pause  of  this  nature.  Such  pauses 
have  the  same  effect  as  a  strong  emphasis ;  and  are  subject  to  the  same 
rules,  especially  to  the  caution  of  not  repeating  them  too  frequently. 
For  as  they  excite  uncommon  attention,  and  of  course  raise  expectation, 
if  the  importance  of  the  matter  be  not  fully  answerable  to  such  expect- 
ation, they  occasion  disappointment  and  disgust. 

"  But  the  most  frequent  and  principal  use  of  pauses  is  to  mark  the 
divisions  of  the  sense,  and  at  the  same  time  to  allow  the  reader  to  draw 
his  breath  ;  and  the  proper  and  delicate  adjustment  of  such  pauses  is 
one  of  the  most  nice  and  difficult  articles  of  delivery.  In  all  reading, 
the  management  of  the  breath  requires  a  good  deal  of  care,  so  as  not  to 
oblige  us  to  divide  words  from  one  another,  which  have  so  intimate  a 
connexion  that  they  ought  to  be  pronounced  with  the  same  breath,  and 
without  the  least  separation.  Many  a  sentence  is  miserably  mangled, 
and  the  force  of  the  emphasis  totally  lost,  by  divisions  being  made  in  the 
wrong  place.  To  avoid  this,  every  one,  while  he  is  reading,  should  be 
very  careful  to  provide  a  full  supply  of  breath  for  what  he  is  to  utter. 
It  is  a  great  mistake  to  imagine  that  the  breath  must  be  drawn  only  at 
the  end  of  a  period,  when  the  voice  is  allowed  to  fall.  It  may  easily  be 
gathered  at  the  intervals  of  the  period,  when  the  voice  is  suspended  only 
for  a  moment ;  and,  by  this  management,  one  may  always  have  a  suffi- 
cient slock  for  carrying  on  the  longest  sentence,  without  improper  inter- 
ruptions. 

"  Pauses  in  reading  must  generally  be  formed  upon  the  manner  in 
which  we  utter  ourselves  in  ordinary,  sensible  conversation,  and  not 
upon  the  stiff,  artificial  manner  which  is  acquired  from  reading  books 


INTRODUCTION. 


21 


according  to  the  common  punctuation.  It  will  by  no  means  be  sufficient 
to  attend  to  the  points  used  in  printing,  for  these  are  far  from  marking 
all  the  pauses  which  ought  to  be  made  in  reading.  A  mechanical  atten- 
tion to  these  resting  places  has  perhaps  been  one  cause  of  monotony,  by 
leading  the  reader  to  a  similar  tone  at  every  stop,  and  a  uniform  cadence 
at  every  period.  The  primary  use  of  points  is  to  assist  the  reader  in 
discerning  the  grammatical  construction  ;  and  it  is  only  as  a  secondary 
object  that  they  regulate  his  pronunciation.  On  this  head  the  following 
direction  may  be  of  use  :  *  Though  in  reading  great  attention  should  be 
paid  to  the  stops,  yet  a  greater  should  be  given  to  the  sense,  and  their 
correspondent  times  occasionally  lengthened  beyond  what  is  usual  in 
common  speech.' 

"  To  render  pauses  pleasing  and  expressive,  they  must  not  only  be 
made  in  the  right  place,  but  also  accompanied  with  a  proper  tone  of 
voice,  by  which  the  nature  of  these  pauses  is  intimated ;  much  more 
than  by  the  length  of  them,  which  can  seldom  be  exactly  measured. 
Sometimes  it  is  only  a  slight  and  simple  suspension  of  voice  that  is 
proper ;  sometimes  a  degree  of  cadence  in  the  voice  is  required  ;  and 
sometimes  that  peculiar  tone  and  cadence  which  denote  the  sentence  to 
be  finished.  In  all  these  cases,  we  are  to  regulate  ourselves  by  attend- 
ing to  the  manner  in  which  nature  teaches  us  to  speak  when  engaged  in 
real  and  earnest  discourse  with  others.  The  following  sentence  exem- 
plifies the  suspending  and  the  closing  pauses  :  '  Hope,  the  balm  of  life, 
soothes  us  under  every  misfortune.'  The  first  and  second  pauses  are 
accompanied  by  an  inflection  of  voice,  that  gives  the  hearer  an  expecta- 
tion of  something  further  to  complete  the  sense  ;  the  inflection  attending 
the  third  pause  signifies  that  the  sense  is  completed. 

"  The  preceding  example  is  an  illustration  of  the  suspending  pause,  in 
its  simple  state  :  the  following  instance  exhibits  that  pause  with  a  degree 
of  cadence  in  the  voice ;  '  If  content  cannot  remove  the  disquietudes  of 
mankind,  it  will  at  least  alleviate  them.' 

"  The  suspending  pause  is  often,  in  the  same  sentence,  attended  with 
both  the  rising  and  the  falling  inflection  of  voice ;  as  will  be  seen  in  this 
example:  'Moderate  exercise^  and  habitual  temperance',  strengthen 
the  constitution.'  * 

"  As  the  suspending  pause  may  be  thus  attended  with  both  the  rising 
and  the  falling  inflection,  it  is  the  same  with  regard  to  the  closing  pause  : 
it  admits  of  both.  The  falling  inflection  generally  accompanies  it ;  but 
it  is  not  unfrequently  connected  with  the  rising  inflection.  Interrogative 
sentences,  for  instance,  are  often  terminated  in  this  manner  :  as,  '  Am  I 
ungrateful'  ? '     '  Is  he  in  earnest'  ? ' 

"  But  where  a  sentence  is  begun  by  an  interrogative  pronoun  or  ad- 
verb, it  is  commonly  terminated  by  the  falling  inflection  :  as,  '  What  has 
he  gained  by  his  folly' ? '  '  Who  will  assist  him'? '  '  Where  is  the  mes- 
senger' ? '     <  When  did  he  arrive'  ? ' 

"  When  two  questions  are  united  in  one  sentence,  and  connected  by 
the  conjunction  or,  the  first  takes  the  rising,  the  second  the  falling  in- 
flection :  as,  '  Does  his  conduct  support  discipline'  or  destroy  it'? ' 

"The  rising  and  falling  inflections  must  not  be  confounded  with 
emphasis.  Though  they  may  often  coincide,  they  are,  in  their  nature, 
perfectly  distinct.     Emphasis  sometimes  controls  those  inflections. 

"  The  regular  application  of  the  rising  and  falling  inflections  confers 

♦  The  rtaing  Inflection  ia  denoted  by  the  acute,  the  faUing  by  the  grave,  accent. 


Jiii  INTRODTJCTION. 

SO  much  beauty  on  expression,  and  is  so  necessary  to  be  studied  by 
the  young  reader,  that  we  shall  insert  a  few  more  examples,  to  induce 
him  to  pay  greater  attention  to  the  subject.  In  these  instances,  all 
the  inflections  are  not  marked.  Such  only  are  distinguished  as  are 
most  striking,  and  will  best  serve  to  show  the  reader  theu*  utility  and 
importance. 

"  '  Manufactures^  trade\  and  agriculture',  certainly  employ  more  than 
nineteen  parts  in  twenty  of  the  human  species.' 

" '  He  who  resigns  the  world  has  no  temptation  to  envy',  hatred\ 
malice^  anger';  but  is  in  constant  possession  of  a  serene  mind:  he 
who  follows  the  pleasures  of  it,  which  are  in  their  very  nature  dis- 
appointing, is  in  constant  search  of  care\  solicitude',  remorse',  and  con- 
fusion\' 

" '  To  advise  the  ignorant^  relieve  the  needy\,  comfort  the  afflicted', 
are  duties  that  fall  in  our  way  almost  every  day  of  our  lives.' 

"  '  Those  evil  spirits,  who,  by  long  custom,  have  contracted  in  the  body 
habits  of  lust'  and  sensuaUty^;  malice'  and  revenge^;  an  aversion  to 
everything  that  is  good\  just^  and  laudable',  are  naturally  seasoned  and 
prepared  for  pain  and  misery.' 

" '  I  am  persuaded,  that  neither  deathyjnor  life^ ;  nor  angels',  nor 
principalities',  nor  powers^ ;  nor  things  present',  nor  things  to  come^ ;  nor 
height',  nor  depth^ ;  nor  any  other  creature',  shall  bp.  able  to  separate  us 
from  the  love  of  God\' 

"The  reader  who  would  wish  to  see  a  minute  and  ingenious  investi- 
gation of  the  nature  of  these  inflections,  and  the  rules  by  which  they 
are  governed,  may  consult  Walker's  Elements  of  Elocution. 

"MANNER   OF   READING  VERSE. 

"  When  we  are  reading  verse,  there  is  a  peculiar  difficulty  in  making 
the  pauses  justly.  The  difficulty  arises  from  the  melody  of  verse,  which 
dictates  to  the  ear  pauses  or  rests  of  its  own ;  and  to  adjust  and  com- 
pound these  properly  with  the  pauses  of  the  sense,  so  as  neither  to  hurt 
the  ear  nor  ofiend  the  understanding,  is  so  very  nice  a  matter,  that  it  is 
no  wonder  we  so  seldom  meet  with  good  readers  of  poetry.  There  are 
two  kinds  of  pauses  that  belong  to  the  melody  of  verse  :  one  is  the  pause 
at  the  end  of  the  line  ;  and  the  other,  the  cajsural  pause  in  or  near  the 
middle  of  it.  With  regard  to  the  pause  at  the  end  of  the  line,  which 
marks  that  strain  or  verse  to  be  finished,  rhyme  renders  this  always  sen- 
sible, and  in  some  measure  compels  us  to  observe  it  in  our  pronuncia- 
tion. In  respect  to  blank  verse,  we  ought  also  to  read  it  so  as  to  make 
every  line  sensible  to  the  ear ;  for,  what  is  the  use  of  melody,  or  for  what 
end  has  the  poet  composed  in  verse,  if,  in  reading  his  lines,  we  suppress 
his  numbers,  by  omitting  the  final  pause ;  and  degrade  them,  by  our 
pronunciation,  into  mere  prose  ?  At  the  same  time  that  we  attend  to 
this  pause,  every  appearance  of  sing-song  and  tone  must  be  carefully 
guarded  against.  The  close  of  the  line,  where  it  makes  no  pause  in 
the  meaning,  ought  not  to  be  marked  by  such  a  tone  as  is  used  in 
finishing  a  sentence ;  but,  without  ei-ther  fall  or  elevation  of  the  voice, 
it  should  be  denoted  only  by  so  slight  a  suspension  of  sound  as  may 
distinguish  the  passage  from  one  line  to  another,  without  injuring  the 
meaning. 

"  The  other  kind  of  melodious  pause  is  that  which  falls  somewhere 
about  the  middle  of  the  verse,  and  divides  it  into  two  hemistichs ;  a 
pause  not  so  great  as  that  which  belongs  to  the  close  of  the  line,  but 


INTRODUCTION.  23 

Still  sensible  to  an  ordinary  ear.  This,  which  is  called  the  caesural 
pause,  may  fall,  in  English  heroic  verse,  after  the  fourth,  fifth,  sixth,  or 
seventh,  syllable  in  the  line.  Where  the  verse  is  so  constructed  that 
this  caesural  pause  coincides  with  the  slightest  pause  or  division  in  the 
sense,  the  line  can  be  read  easily ;  as  in  the  two  first  verses  of  Pope's 
Messiah : 

'  Ye  nymphs  of  Solyma^ !  begin  the  song ; 
To  heavenly  themes^^  sublimer  strains  belong.' 

But  if  it  should  happen  that  words  which  have  so  strict  and  intimate  a 
connexion  as  not  to  bear  even  a  momentary  separation  are  divided  from 
one  another  by  this  caesural  pause,  we  then  feel  a  sort  of  struggle  between 
the  sense  and  the  sound,  which  renders  it  difficult  to  read  such  lines 
harmoniously.  The  rule  of  proper  pronunciation  in  such  cases  is,  to 
regard  only  the  pause  which  the  sense  forms,  and  to  read  the  line 
accordingly.  The  neglect  of  the  caesural  pause  may  make  the  line 
sound  somewhat  unharmoniously ;  but  the  effect  would  be  much  worse, 
if  the  sense  were  sacrificed  to  the  sound.  For  instance,  in  the  following 
lines  of  Milton, 

*  What  in  me  is  dark, 

Illumine  ;  what  is  low,  raise  and  support,' 

the  sense  clearly  dictates  the  pause  after  illumine,  at  the  end  of  the  third 
syllable,  which,  in  reading,  ought  to  be  made  accordingly ;  though,  if 
the  melody  only  were  to  be  regarded,  illumine  should  be  connected  with 
what  follows,  and  the  pause  not  made  till  the  fourth  or  sixth  syllable. 
So  m  the  following  line  of  Pope's  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot, 

*  I  sit,  with  sad  civility  I  read,' 

the  ear  plainly  points  out  the  cajsural  pause  as  falling  after  sad,  the  fourth 
syllable.  But  it  would  be  very  bad  reading  to  make  any  pause  thiere, 
so  as  to  separate  sad  and  civility.  The  sense  admits  of  no  other  pause 
than  after  the  second  syllable,  sit,  which  therefore  must  be  the  only  pause 
made  in  reading  this  part  of  the  sentence. 

"  There  is  another  mode  of  dividing  some  verses,  by  introducing  what 
may  be  called  demi-cajsuras,  which  require  very  slight  pauses;  and 
which  the  reader  should  manage  with  judgment,  or  he  will  be  apt  to  fall 
into  an  afiected,  sing-song  mode  of  pronouncing  verses  of  this  kind.  The 
following  lines  exemplify  the  demi-csesura. 

'  Warms'  in  the  sun",  refreshes'  in  the  breeze, 
Glows'  in  ihe  stars",  and  blossoms'  in  the  trees : 
Lives'  through  all  life";  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads'  unaivided",  operates'  unspent.' 

"  Before  the  conclusion  of  this  introduction,  the  compiler  takes  the 
liberty  to  recommend  to  teachers  to  exercise  their  pupils  in  discovering 
and  explaining  the  emphatic  words,  and  the  proper  tones  and  pauses, 
of  every  portion  assigned  them  to  read,  previously  to  their  being  called 
out  to  the  performance.  These  preparatory  lessons,  in  which  they  should 
be  regularly  examined,  will  improve  their  judgment  and  taste,  prevent 
the  practice  of  reading  without  attention  to  the  subject,  and  establish  a 
habit  of  readily  discovering  the  meaning,  force,  and  beauty,  of  every 
sentence  they  peruse." 


1 


?  1  INTRODUCTION. 

To  the  directions  of  Mr.  Murray  which  have  now  been  recited,  the 
author  of  this  work  has  little  to  add,  except  the  suggestions  which  are 
given  in  the  respective  lessons  which  follow.  One  direction  more,  how 
ever,  he  will  add,  which  is  partly  expressed  in  borrowed  language  • 

"Learn  to  speak  slow  ;  all  other  graces 
Will  follow  in  their  proper  places  ;" 
And  while  thus  slowly  onward  you  proceed, 
Study  the  meaning  of  whate'er  you  read. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS 


LESSON    I. 

THE    PERIOD. 
The  Period  is  a  round  dot  or  mark  like  this  • 

2.  The  period  is  generally  placed  after  the  last  word  in  a 
sentence. 

3.  When  you  come  to  a  period,  you  must  stop,  as  if  you 
had  nothing  more  to  read. 

4.  You  must  pronounce  the  word  which  is  immediately 
before  a  period,  with  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice. 

5.  But  you  do  not  know  what  I  mean  by  the  falling  in- 
flection of  the  voice. 

6.  I  am  now  going  to  tell  you. 

7.  Listen  attentively  to  what  I  am  going  to  say. 

8.  Charles  has  bought  a  new  hat. 

9.  That  sentence  was  read  with  the  falling  inflection  of 
the  voice. 

10.  1  am  going  to  tell  you  in  the  next  lesson  what  I  mean 
by  the  rising  inflection  of  the  voice. 

11.  Look  in  the  next  lesson,  and  find  the  eighth  sentence, 
which  you  have  just  read. 

12.  Tell  me  whether  you  would  read  it  in  the  same  man- 
ner in  the  second  lesson. 

3 


M 


nfTftOfetrCTORY    LESSONS. 


LESSON    II. 

THE   INTERROGATION   POINT,  OR   QUESTION 

The  Interrogation  Pointy  or  Question,  is  a  mark  like 
this  ? 

The  interrogation  point,  or  question,  shows  that  a 
question  is  asked,  and  is  generally  read  with  the  rising 
inflection  of  the  voice, 

EXAMPLES. 

13.  Has  Charles  bought  a  new  hat? 

14.  Did  you  say  that  Charles  has  bought  a  new  hat? 

15.  Did  you  read  the  thirteenth  sentence  in  the  same 
manner  that  you  read  the  eighth  ? 

16.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  by  the  rising  inflection  of 
the  voice  1 

17.  Do  you  know  now  how  to  read  a  sentence  with  the 
faiJing  inflection  of  the  voice? 

18.  Shall  I  tell  you  again  ?     Will  you  listen  attentively? 

19.  Are  the  little  marks  after  the  sentences  in  the  first 
lesson,  like  those  at  the  end  of  the  sentences  in  this  lesson? 

20.  Do  you  know  that  you  have  read  all  the  sentences  in 
this  lesson  with  the  rising  inflection  of  the  voice? 

21.  Will  you  look  at  the  following  sentences,  and  read 
those  which  are  marked  D,  with  the  falling  inflection  of  the 
voice,  and  those  which  are  marked  Q,,  with  the  rising  in- 
flection of  the  voice? 

22.  D.    John  has  arrived. 
Has  .John  arrived? 
My  father  is  very  well. 
Is  your  mother  well  ? 
Mary  has  lost  her  book. 
Has  Caroline  found  her  work-box  1 
They  who  have  not  read  these  sentences  well 

must  read  them  over  again. 

29.  Q.  May  they  who  have  read  them  well  proceed  to 
the  next  lesson? 

30.  D.  As  soon  as  they  understand  what  they  have  read, 
1  shall  give  them  a  new  lesson. 

31.  Q.   Will  they  all  be  as  easy  as  this? 


23. 

a. 

24. 

D. 

25. 

Q. 

26. 

D. 

27. 

Q. 

28. 

D. 

INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  27 

32.  D.    That   will    depend    upon   yourself    more    than 
on  me. 

33.  Q,.    Does  the  D  in  the  above  sentences  stand  for  a 
declaration? 

34.  D.   Yes.     I  think,  also,  that   the   Q,  stands   for   a 
question. 


LESSON    III. 

Sometimes  the  sentence  which  ends  with  an  interrogation 
pointy  should  he  read  with  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice 

EXAMPLES. 

35.  What  o'clock  is  it  1 

36.  How  do  you  do  to-day  ? 

37.  What  have  you  in  your  hand? 

38.  Where  have  you  been  ? 

39.  When  did  your  father  return  home? 

40.  How  did  you  hear  that  story? 

41.  How  much  did  he  give  for  his  book? 

42.  Whose  hat  is  that  in  the  entry  ? 

43.  What  did  you  see  in  the  street? 

44.  How  high  is  the  steeple  of  St.  Paul's  Church  ? 

45.  Where  does  that  man  live? 

46.  Which  of  those  books  do  you  prefer  ? 

47.  Who  is  that  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  ? 

48.  Whither  is  that  bird  flying? 

49.  Why  did  you  leave  your  place  just  now? 

50.  Wherefore  do  you  not  try  to  read  correctly  ? 


LESSON    IV. 

Sometimes  the  first  part  of  a  sentence  ending  with  an 
%iiterrogation  point,  must  he  read  toith  the  rising  inflection 
of  the  voice,  and  the  last  part  with  the  falling  inflection. 
The  parts  of  the  sentence  are  separated  hy  a  mark  like 
this  (  ,  )  called  a  comma.     At  the  comma  the  rising  inflec' 


28  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS, 

lion  must  be  used,  and  at  the  interrogation  point  the  falling 
inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

51.  Shall  I  give  you  a  peach,  or  an  apple? 

52.  Would  you  rather  have  a  kite,  or  a  football? 

53.  Is  that  John,  or  Charles  1 

54.  Are  you  going  home,  or  into  the  school-house  ? 

55.  Will  you  go  now,  or  will  you  stay  a  little  longer  ? 

56.  Is  that  a  Grammar,  or  a  Geography  ? 

57.  Do  you  expect  to  ride,  or  to  walk  1 

58.  Does  your  father  intend  to  build  his  new  house  in 
the  city,  or  in  the  country  ? 

59.  Shall  we  now  attend  to  our  reading  lessons,  or  to  our 
lessons  in  spelling  ? 

60.  Did  you  go  to  church  on  the  last  Sabbath,  or  did  you 
stay  at  home  ? 


LESSON    V. 

Sometimes  the  Jirst  part  of  a  sentence  ending  with  a 
note  of  interrogation,  must  be  read  with  the  falling  infec- 
tion of  the  voice,  and  the  last  pari  with  the  rising  infec- 
tion. 

EXAMPLES. 

61.  Where  have  you  been  to-day?     At  home  ? 

62.  Whose  books  are  those  on  the  floor  ?  Do  they  be- 
long to  John  ? 

63.  Whither  shall  I  go  ?     Shall  I  return  home  ? 

64.  What  is  that  on  the  top  of  the  house  ?     Is  it  a  bird  ? 

65.  What  are  you  doing  with  your  book  1  Are  you  tear- 
ing out  the  leaves  ? 

66.  Whom  shall  I  send?     Will  John  go  willingly  ? 

67.  When  shall  I  bring  you  those  books  ?  Would  you 
like  to  have  them  to-day  ? 

68.  Who  told  you  to  return  ?     Did  your  father  ? 

69.  How  much  did  you  pay  for  that  book  ?  More  than 
three  shillings  ? 

70.  How  old  shall  you  be  on  your  next  birthday? 
Eleven  ? 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  29 

71.  Why  did  you  not  arrive  sooner  7     Were  you  neces- 
sarily  detained  ? 

72.  How  often  shall  my  brother  sin  against  me,  and  I  for- 
give him  1     Till  seven  times  ? 

73.  But  what  excuse  can  the  Englishman  plead  1     The 
custom  of  duelling? 

74.  What  concern  they  1     The  general  cause  ? 

75.  How  many  lessons  are  there  in  this  book  ?    Are  there 
more  than  twenty-five  ? 


LESSON    VI. 

In  this  lesson  some  of  the  sentences  are  questions  requir- 
ing the  rising,  and  some  the  falling,  inflection  of  the  voice. 
A  few  sentences  also  ending  with  a  period  are  inserted. 
No  directions  are  given  to  the  pupil  with  regard  to  the 
manner  of  reading  them,  it  being  desirable  that  his  own 
understanding,  under  the  guidance  of  nature  alone,  should 
direct  him.  But  it  may  be  observed  that  questions  which 
can  be  answered  by  yes,  or  no,  generally  require  the  rising 
inflection  of  the  voice ;  and  that  questions  which  cannot  be 
answered  by  yes,  or  no,  generally  require  the  falling  in- 
flection. 

EXAMPLES. 

76.  John,  where  have  you  been  this  morning  ? 

77.  Have  you  seen  my  father  to-day. 

78.  That  is  a  beautiful  top. 

79.  Where  did  you  get  it  1 

80.  I  bought  it  at  the  toy-shop. 

81.  What  did  you  give  for  it? 

82.  I  gave  a  shilling  for  it. 

83.  What  excuse  have  you  for  coming  late  this  morning? 
Did  you  not  know  that  it  is  past  the  school  hour  ? 

84.  If  you  are  so  inattentive  to  your  lessons,  do  you  think 
that  you  shall  make  much  improvement  ? 

85.  Will  you  go,  or  stay?     Will  you  ride,  or  walk  ? 
80,    Will  you  go  to-day,  or  to-morrow  ? 

87.  Did  he  resemble  his  father,  or  his  mother  ? 

88.  Is  this  book  yours,  or  mine  ? 

89.  Do  you  hold  the  watch  to-night  ?     We  do,  sn . 

3^ 


30 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 


90.  Did  you  say  that  he  was  armed  ?     He  was  armed. 

91.  Did  you  not  speak  to  it  ?     I  did. 

92.  Art   thou   he  that  should  come,  or  must  we  expect 
another  person  ? 

93.  Why  are  you  so  silent  ?     Have  you  nothing  to  say  ? 

94.  Who  hath  believed  our  report  ?     To  whom  hath  the 
arm  of  the  Lord  been  revealed  1 


LESSON    VII. 

THE    EXCLAMATION    POINT 

Tlie  Exclamation  Point  is  a  mark  like  this  ! 

The  exclamation  point  is  placed  at  the  end  of  sentences 
which  express  surprise,  astonishment,  wonder,  or  admiration, 
and  other  strong  feelings ;  and  such  sentences  are  generally 
read  with  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

95.  How  cold  it  is  to-day  ! 

96.  What  a  beautiful  top  that  is  ! 

97.  How  mysterious  are  the  ways  of  Providence  ! 

98.  How  noisy  those  boys  are  in  the  street ! 

99.  What  a  simple  fellow  he  is  to  spend  his  money  so 
uselessly ! 

100.  Poor  fellow,  he  does  not  know  what  to  do  with 
himself! 

101.  What  a  fine  morning  it  is  !  How  brightly  the  sun 
shines  !  How  verdant  is  the  landscape  !  How  sweetly  the 
birds  sing  ! 

102.  Look  here!  See  what  a  handsome  doll  my  mother 
has  just  given  me  ! 

103.  Good  Heaven  !     What  an  eventful  life  was  hers  ! 

104.  Good  friends!  sweet  friends!  let  me  not  stir  you 
up  to  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny ! 

105.  Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 

106.  Oh  disgrace  upon  manhood  1  It  is  strange  !  It  is 
dreadful ! 

107.  Alas,  poor  country,  almost  afraid  to  kno^-n  itself! 


INTRnDUCTORY   LESSONS.  31 

108.  Oh  glory  !  glory  !  mighty  one  on  earth  1  How  just- 
ly imaged  in  this  waterfall  1 

109.  Tremendous  torrent !  for  an  instant  hush  the  terrors 
of  thy  voice  ! 

110.  Ah,  terribly  the  hoarse  and  rapid  whirlpools  rage 
there  ! 

111.  Oh!  deep  enchanting  prelude  to  repose!  The  dawn 
of  bliss,  the  twilight  of  our  woes  ! 

112.  Daughter  of  Faith,  awake  !  arise  !  illume  the  dread 
unknown,  the  chaos  of  the  tomb  ! 

113.  It  is  a  dread  and  awful  thing  to  die  ! 

114.  Lovely  art  thou,  oh' Peace !  and  lovely  are  thy  chil- 
dren, and  lovely  are  the  prints  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  green 
valleys  1 

115.  Why,  here  comes  my  father  !  How  quickly  he  has 
returned  !     Oh  how  glad  I  am  to  see  him  I 


LESSON    VIll. 

THE  PERIOD,  INTERROGATION,  AND  EX 
CLAMATION  UNITED. 

The  pupil  was  taught,  in  the  first  lesson,  (see  No.  3,)  that  when  he 
comes  to  a  period,  he  must  stop,  as  if  he  had  nothing  more  to  read.  At 
the  end  of  a  paragraph,  whether  the  period  or  any  other  mark  be  used, 
a  longer  pause  should  be  made  than  at  the  end  of  an  ordinary  sentence. 
The  interrogation  and  the  exclamation  points  generally  require  pauses 
of  the  same  length  with  the  period. 

It  may  here  be  remarked,  that  good  readers  always  make  their 
PAUSES  LONG  ;  but  whatever  be  the  length  of  the  pause,  tlie  pupil  must  be 
careful  that  every  pau^e  which  he  makes  sJiall  be  a  total  cessation  of 

THE  VOICE. 

EXAMPLES. 

116.  George  is  a  good  boy.  He  gets  his  lesson  well.  He 
is  attentive  to  the  instructions  of  his  teacher.  He  is  orderly 
and  quiet  at  home. 

117.  A  good  scholar  is  known  by  his  obedience  to  the 
rules  of  the  school.  He  obeys  the  directions  of  his  teacher. 
His  attendance  at  the  proper  time  of  school  is  always  punc- 


32  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

tual.  He  is  remarkable  for  his  diligence  and  attention.  He 
reads  no  other  book  than  that  which  he  is  desired  to  read  by 
his  master.  He  studies  no  lessons  but  those  which  are  ap- 
pointed for  the  day.  He  takes  no  toys  from  his  pocket  to 
amuse  himself  or  others.  He  pays  no  regard  to  those  who 
attempt  to  divert  his  attention  from  his  book. 

118.  Do  you  know  who  is  a  good  scholar?  Can  you 
point  out  many  in  this  room  ?  How  negligent  some  of  our 
fellow-pupils  are  !  Ah  !  I  am  afraid  that  many  will  regret 
that  they  have  not  improved  their  time  ! 

119.  Why,  here  comes  Charles  !  Did  you  think  that  he 
would  return  so  soon  7  I  suspect  that  he  has  not  been 
pleased  with  his  visit.  Have  you,  Charles?  And  were  your 
friends  glad  to  see  you  ?  When  is  cousin  Jane  to  be  mar- 
ried ?  Will  she  make  us  a  visit  before  she  is  married  ?  Or 
will  she  wait  until  she  has  changed  her  name? 

120.  My  dear  Edward,  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you  !  I 
heard  of  your  approaching  happiness  with  the  highest  pleas- 
ure. How  does  Rose  do  1  And  how  is  our  old  whimsical 
friend  the  baron  ?  You  must  be  patient,  and  answer  all  my 
questions.     I  have  many  inquiries  to  make. 

121.  The  first  dawn  of  morning  found  Waverley  on  the 
esplanade  in  front  of  the  old  Gothic  gate  of  the  castle.  But 
he  paced  it  long  before  the  draw-bridge  was  lowered.  He 
produced  his  order  to  the  sergeant  of  the  guard,  and  was 
admitted.  The  place  of  his  friend's  confinement  was  a 
gloomy  apartment  in  the- central  part  of  the  castle. 

122.  Do  you  expect  to  be  as  high  in  your  class  as  your 
brother?  Did  you  recite  your  lessons  as  well  as  he  did? 
Lazy  boy !  Careless  child !  You  have  been  playing  these 
two  hours.  You  have  paid  no  attention  to  your  lessons. 
You  cannot  say  a  word  of  them.  How  foolish  you  have 
been !     What  a  waste  of  time  and  talents  you  have  made  1 


LESSON    IX. 

THE    COMMA. 

The  Comma  is  a  mark  like  this  , 

When  you  come  to  a  comma  in  reading,  you  must  gener- 
ally  make  a  short  pause.     Sometimes  you  must  use  the  falling 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  83 

tnjlection  of  the  voice,  when  you  come  to  a  comma ;  and 
sometimes  you  must  keep  your  voice  susperided^  as  if  so?ne 
one  had  stopped  you  before  you  Jiad  read  all  that  you  in- 
tended. In  this  lesson  you  must  keep  your  voice  suspeiuled 
when  you  come  to  a  comma  ;  but  let  the  slight  pau^e^  or  stop 
that  you  make,  be  a  total  cessation  of  the  voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

123.  Diligence,  industry,  and  proper  improvemenl  of 
time,  are  material  duties  of  the  young. 

124.  He  is  generous,  just,  charitable,  and  humane. 

125.  By  wisdom,  by  art,  by  the  united  strength  of  a  civil 
community,  men  have  been  enabled  to  subdue  the  whole 
race  of  lions,  bears,  and  serpents. 

126.  The  genuine  glory,  the  proper  distinction  of  the 
rational  species,  arises  from  the  perfection  of  the  mental 
powers. 

127.  Courage  is  apt  to  be  fierce,  and  strength  is  often 
exerted  in  acts  of  oppression.  Wisdom  is  the  associate  of 
justice.  It  assists  her  to  form  eqival  laws,  to  pursue  right 
measures,  to  correct  power,  to  protect  weakness,  and  to 
unite  individuals  in  a  common  interest  and  general  welfare. 
Heroes  may  kill  tyrants,  but  it  is  wisdom  and  laws  that  pre- 
vent tyranny  and  oppression. 

[Sometimes  a  comma  must  he  read  like  a  question.'^ 

128.*  Do  you  pretend  to  sit  as  high  in  school  as  Antho- 
ny? Did  you  read  as  correctly,  speak  as  loudly,  or  behave 
as  well  as  he  ? 

128.  Do  you  pretend  to  sit  as  high  on  Olympus  as  Her- 
cules ?  Did  you  kill  the  Nemcan  lion,  the  Erymanthiau 
boar,  the  Lernean  serpent,  or  Stymphalian  birds  ? 

129.  Are  you  the  boy,  of  whose  good  conduct  I  have 
heard  so  much  ? 

129.  Art  thou  the  Thracian  robber,  of  whose  exploits  I 
have  heard  so  much? 

130.  Have  you  not  misemployed  your  time,  wasted  your 
talents,  and  passed  your  life  in  idleness  and  vice  ? 

130.    Hast  thou  not  set  at  defiance  my  authority,  violated 

*  Some  of  Ihe  sentences  which  follow  will  be  marked  with  the  same  number; 
and  such  sentences  are  to  be  read  in  the  same  manner,  and  with  the  same  in- 
flection of  the  voice,  &cc.. 


84  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

the  public  peace,  and  passed  thy  life  in  injuring  the  persons 
and  properties  of  thy  fellow-subjects  ? 

131.  Who  is  that  standing  up  in  his  place,  with  his  hat 
on,  and  his  books  under  his  arm  ? 

131.  Whom  are  they  ushering  from  the  world,  with  all 
this  pageantry  and  long  parade  of  death  ? 

132.  Did  he  recite  his  lesson  correctly,  read  audibly,  and 
appear  to  understand  what  he  read? 

132.  Was  his  copy  written  neatly,  his  letters  made  hand- 
somely, and  did  no  blot  appear  on  his  book  ? 

132.  Was  his  wealth  stored  fraud  fully,  the  spoil  of  orphans 
wronged,  and  widows  who  had  none  to  plead  their  rights? 

132.  Have  not  you,  too,  gone  about  the  earth  like  an  evil 
genius,  blasting  the  fair  fruits  of  peace  and  industry? 

133.  Is  that  a  map  which  you  have  before  you,  with  the 
leaves  blotted  with  ink  ? 

133.  Is  this  a  dagger,  which  I  see  before  me,  the  handle 
toward  my  hand  ? 

133.  Will  you  say  that  your  time  is  your  own,  and  that 
you  have  a  right  to  employ  it  in  the  manner  you  please  ? 

[Sometimes  the  comma  is  to  be  read  like  a  period,  with 
the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice.] 

134.  The  teacher  directed  him  to  take  his  seat,  to  study 
his  lesson,  and  to  pass  no  more  time  in  idleness. 

134.  It  is  said  by  unbelievers  that  religion  is  dull,  unso- 
cial, uncharitable,  enthusiastic,  a  damper  of  human  joy,  a 
morose  intruder  upon  human  pleasure. 

134.  Charles  has  brought  his  pen  instead  of  his  pencil, 
his  paper  instead  of  his  slate,  his  grammar  instead  of  his 
arithmetic.  * 

134.  Perhaps  you  have  mistaken  sobriety  for  dulness, 
equanimity  for  moroseness,  disinclination  to  bad  company 
for  aversion  to  society,  abhorrence  of  vice  for  uncharitable- 
ness,  and  piety  for  enthusiasm. 

135.  Henry  was  careless,  thoughtless,  heedless,  and  in- 
attentive. 

135.    This  is  partial,  unjust,  uncharitable,  iniquitous. 

135.  The  history  of  religion  is  ransacked  for  instances  of 
persecution,  of  austerities,  and  enthusiastic  irregularities. 

135.  Religion  is  often  supposed  to  be  something  which 
must  be  practised  apart  from  every  thing  else,  a  distinct  pro- 
fession, a  peculiar  occupation. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  35 

135.  Dryden's  mind  has  a  larger  range,  and  he  collects 
his  images  and  illustrations  from  a  more  extensive  circum- 
ference of  science.  Dryden  knew  more  of  man  in  his  gen- 
eral nature,  and  Pope  in  his  local  manners.  The  notions 
of  Dryden  were  formed  by  comprehensive  speculation,  and 
those  of  Pope  by  minute  attention. 

135.  Oh !  you  might  deem  the  spot  the  spacious  cavern 
of  some  virgin  mine,  deep  in  the  womb  of  earth,  where  the 
gems  grow,  and  diamonds  put  forth  radiant  rods,  and  bud 
with  amethyst  and  topaz. 

[Sometimes  the  comma  is  to  be  read  like  an  exclamation.*'^ 

136.  Oh  how  can  you  destroy  those  beautiful  things  which 
your  father  procured  for  you  1  that  beautiful  top,  those  pol- 
ished marbles,  that  excellent  ball,  and  that  beautifully  painted 
kite,  oh  how  can  you  destroy  them,  and  expect  that  he  will 
buy  you  new  ones  ! 

136.  Oh  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 
of  charms  that  Nature  to  her  votary  yields  !  the  warbling 
woodland,  the  resounding  shore,  the  pomp  of  groves,  the 
garniture  of  fields,  all  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gilds, 
and  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even,  all  that  the  moun- 
tain's sheltering  bosom  shields,  and  all  the  dread  magnifi- 
cence of  heaven,  oh  how  canst  thou  renounce  and  hope  to 
be  forgiven  ! 

137.  Oh  winter  !  ruler  of  the  inverted  year  !  thy  scattered 
hair  with  sleetlike  ashes  filled,  thy  breath  congealed  upon 
thy  lips,  thy  cheeks  fringed  with  a  beard  made  white  with 
other  snows  than  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapped  in 
clouds,  a  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  thy  throne  a  sliding 
car,  indebted  to  no  wheels,  but  urged  by  storms  along  its 
slippery  way,  I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seemest,  and 
dreaded  as  thou  art ! 

138.  Lovely  art  thou,  O  Peace !  and  lovely  are  thy  children, 
and  lovely  are  the  prints  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  green  valleys. 

[Sometimes  the  comma  and  other  marks  are  to  be  read 
without  any  pause  or  inflection  of  the  voice."] 

138.  You  see,  boys,  what  a  fine  school-room  we  have,  in 
which  you  can  pursue  your  studies. 

*  The  pupil  will  notice  that  some  sentences  which  contain  a  question,  to 
which  no  answer  is  given  or  expected,  are  marked  with  an  exclamation  point 
instead  of  an  interrogation  point ;  but  such  sentences  generally  express  sur- 
prise or  astonishment,  &c.  The  sentences  numbered  13G  are  of  this  kind 
3ee    Clark's  English    Grammar,  Page  190. 


36  FNTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

138.  You  see,  my  son,  this  wide  and  large  firmament 
over  our  heads,  where  the  sun  and  moon,  and  all  the  stars 
appear  in  their  turns. 

138.  Therefore,  my  child,  fear,  and  worship,  and  love 
God. 

138.  He,  that  can  read  as  well  as  you  can,  James,  need 
not  be  ashamed  to  read  aloud. 

138.  He,  that  can  make  the  multitude  laugh  and  weep  as 
you  can,  Mr.  Shakspeare,  need  not  fear  scholars. 

139.  I  consider  it  my  duty,  at  this  time,  to  tell  you,  that 
you  have  done  something,  of  which  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed. 

139.  I  deem  it  my  duty,  on  this  occasion,  to  suggest,  that 
the  land  is  not  yet  wholly  free  from  the  contamination  of  a 
traffic,  at  which  every  feeling  of  humanity  must  revolt. 

140.  The  Spaniards,  while  thus  employed,  were  sur- 
rounded by  many  of  the  natives,  who  gazed,  in  silent  admi- 
ration, upon  actions  which  they  could  not  comprehend,  and 
of  which  they  did  not  foresee  the  consequences.  The  dress 
of  the  Spaniards,  the  whiteness  of  their  skins,  their  beards, 
their  arms,  appeared  strange  and  surprising. 

141.  Yet,  fair  as  thou  art,  thou  shunnest  to  glide,  beau- 
tiful stream!  by  the  village  side,  but  windest  away  from  the 
haunts  of  men,  to  silent  valley  and  shaded  glen. 

142.  But  it  is  not  for  man,  either  solely  or  principally, 
that  night  is  made, 

143.  We  imagine,  that,  in  a  world  of  our  own  creation, 
there  would  always  be  a  blessing  in  the  air,  and  flowers  and 
fruits  on  the  earth. 

144.  Share  with  you !  said  his  father  —  so  the  industrious 
must  lose  his  labor  to  feed  the  idle. 

144.    His  brother,  Moses,  did  not  imitate  his  example. 


LESSON    X. 

[Sometimes  the  pause  of  a  comma  must  be  made  where 
there  is  no  pause  in  your  book.  Spaces  are  left  in  the  fol- 
lowing sentences  where  the  pause  is  proper. "] 

145.  James  was  very  much  delighted  with  the  picture 
which  he  saw. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  37 

145.  The  Europeans  were  hardly  less  amazed  at  the 
scene  now  before  them. 

146.  The  inhabitants  were  entirely  naked.  Their 
black  hair,  long  and  curled,  floated  upon  their  shoulders, 
or  was  bound  in  tresses         around  their  head. 

147.  Persons  of  reflection  and  sensibility  contemplate 
with  interest  the  scenes  of  nature. 

148.  The  succession  and  contrast  of  the  seasons  give 
scope  to  that  care  and  foresight,  diligence  and  industry,  which 
are  essential  to  the  dignity  and  enjoyment  of  human  be- 
ings. 

149.  The  eye  is  sweetly  delayed  on  every  object  to 
which  it  turns.  It  is  grateful  to  perceive  how  widely, 
yet  chastely,  nature  hath  mixed  her  colors  and  painted 
her  robe. 

150.  Winter  compensates  for  the  want  of  attractions 
abroad  by  fireside  delights  and  homefelt  joys.  In 
all  this  interchange  and  variety  we  find  reason  to  ac- 
knowledge the  wise  and  benevolent  care  of  the  God 
of  seasons. 

[77te  pupil  may  read  the  follovnng  sentences  ;  hut  before  reading  tJiem, 
he  may  tell  after  what  word  the  pause  should  he  made.  The  pause  is  not 
printed  in  the  sentences ,  but  it  must  he  made  when  reading  them.  Jlnd 
here  it  may  he  observed,  that  the  comma  is  more  frequently  used  to  point 
out  the  grammatical  divisions  of  a  sentence,  than  to  indicate  a  rest  or 
cessation  of  the  voice.  Good  reading  depends  much  upon  skill  and  judg- 
ment in  making  those  pauses  which  the  sense  of  the  sentence  dictates,  hut 
which  are  not  noted  in  the  book;  and  the  sooner  the  pupil  is  taught  to 
make  them,  with  proper  discrimination,  the  surer  and  the  more  rapid  will 
be  his  progress  in  the  art  of  reading.} 

151.  While  they  were  at  their  silent  meal  a  horseman 
came  galloping  to  the  door,  and,  with  a  loud  voice,  called 
out  that  he  had  been  sent  express  with  a  letter  to  Gilbert 
Ainslee. 

152.  The  golden  head  that  was  wont  to  rise  at  that  part 
of  the  table  was  now  wanting. 

153.  For  even  though  absent  from  school  I  shall  get  the 
lesson. 

153.  For  even  though  dead  I  will  control  the  trophies  of 
the  capitol. 

154.  It  is  now  two  hundred  years  since  attempts  have 
been  made  to  civilize  the  North  American  savage. 

l.>5.  Doing  well  has  something  more  in  it  than  the  fulfil- 
lintr  of  a  duty. 

4 


38  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

156.  You  will  expect  me  to  say  something  of  the  lonely 
records  of  the  former  races  that  inhabited  this  country. 

157.  There  is  no  virtue  without  a  characteristic  beauty 
to  make  it  particularly  loved  by  the  good,  and  to  make  the 
bad  ashamed  of  their  neglect  of  it. 

158.  A  sacrifice  was  never  yet  offered  to  a  principle,  that 
was  not  made  up  to  us  by  self-approval,  and  the  considera- 
tion of  what  our  degradation  would  have  been  had  we  done 
otherwise. 

159  The  following  story  has  been  handed  down  by  family 
tradition  for  more  than  a  century. 

160.  The  succession  and  contrast  of  the  seasons  give 
scope  to  that  care  and  foresight,  diligence  and  industry, 
which  are  essential  to  the  dignity  and  enjoyment  of  human 
beings,  whose  happiness  is  connected  with  the  exertion  of 
their  faculties. 

161.  A  lion  of  the  largest  size  measures  from  eight  to 
nine  feet  from  the  muzzle  to  the  origin  of  the  tail,  which 
last  is  of  itself  about  four  feet  long.  The  height  of  the 
larger  specimens  is  four  or  five  feet. 

162.  The  following  anecdote  will  show  with  what  obstinate 
perseverance  pack  horses  have  been  known  to  preserve  the 
line  of  their  order. 

163.  Good  morning  to  you,  Charles  1  Whose  book  is  that 
which  you  have  under  your  arm? 

163.  A  benison  upon  thee,  gentle  huntsman !  Whose 
towers  are  these  that  overlook  the  wood  ? 

164.  The  incidents  of  the  last  few  days  have  been  such 
as  will  probably  never  again  be  witnessed  by  the  people  of 
America,  and  such  as  were  never  before  witnessed  by  any 
nation  under  heaven. 

165.  To  the  memory  of  Andre  his  country  has  erected 
the  most  magnificent  monuments,  and  bestowed  on  his  fam- 
ily the  highest  honors  and  most  liberal   rewards.     To  the 
memory  of  Hale  not  a  stone  has  been  erected,  and  the  trav 
eller  asks  in  vain  for  the  place  of  his  long  sleep. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  '*^^ 

LESSON    XI. 

THE   SEMICOLON. 

The  Semicolon  is  made  by  a  comma  placed  under  a  period, 
this  5 

WJien  you  come  to  a  semicoIo?i,  you  must  generally  mxike  a 
pause  twice  as  long  as  you  would  make  at  a  comma. 

Sometimes  you  must  use  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice 
when  yaiL  come  to  a  semicolon^  and  sometimes  you  must  keep 
your  voice  suspended,  as  you  were  directed  in  the  ninth  lesson. 
Whatever  may  be  the  length  of  the  pauses,  let  it  be  a  total 
CESSATION  of  the  voice. 

"When  you  come  to  a  semicolon  in  this  lesson^  you  must 
keep  your  voice  suspended^  as  you  were  directed  in  the  ninth 
lesson. 

EXAMPLES. 

166.  That  God  whom  you  see  me  daily  worship ;  whom  I 
daily  call  upon  to  bless  both  you  and  me,  and  all  mankind ; 
whose  wondrous  acts  are  recorded  in  those  Scriptures  which 
you  constantly  read ;  that  God  who  created  the  heaven  and 
the  earth  is  your  Father  and  Friend. 

167.  My  son,  as  you  have  been  used  to  look  to  me  in  all 
your  actions,  and  have  been  afraid  to  do  any  thing  unless 
you  first  knew  my  will ;  so  let  it  now  be  a  rule  of  your  life 
to  look  up  to  God  in  all  your  actions. 

168.  If  I  have  seen  any  perish  for  want  of  clothing,  or 
any  poor  without  covering;  if  his  loins  have  not  blessed  me, 
and  if  he  were  not  warmed  with  the  fleece  of  my  sheep ;  if 
I  have  lifted  up  my  hand  against  the  fatherless,  when  I  saw 
my  help  in  the  gate ;  then  let  mine  arm  fall  from  my  shoul 
der  blade,  and  mine  arm  be  broken  from  the  bone. 

169.  The  stranger  did  not  lodge  in  the  street;  but  I 
opened  my  doors  to  the  traveller. 

170.  If  my  land  cry  against  me,  or  the  furrows  thereof 
complain ;  if  I  have  eaten  the  fruits  thereof  without  money, 
or  have  caused  the  owners  thereof  to  lose  their  life ;  let 
thistles  grow  instead  of  wheat,  and  cockles  instead  of  barley. 

171.  When  the  fair  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night,  o'er 
heaven's  clear  azure  spreads  her  sacred  light;  when  not  a 


40  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

breath  disturbs  the  deep  serene,  and  not  a  cloud  o'ercasts  the 
solemn  scene;  around  her  throne  the  vivid  planets  roll,  and 
stars  unnumbered  gild  the  glowing  pole ;  o'er  the  dark  trees 
a  yellower  verdure  shed,  and  tip  with  silver  every  mountain's 
head;  then  shine  the  vales,  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise,  a  flood 
of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies;  the  conscious  swains,  re- 
joicing in  the  sight,  eye  the  blue  vault,  and  bless  the  useful 
light. 

172.  When  the  battle  was  ended,  the  stranger  disappeared : 
and  no  person  knew  whence  he  had  come,  nor  whither  he  had 
gone. 

173.  The  relief  was  so  timely,  so  sudden,  so  unexpected, 
and  so  providential ;  the  appearance  and  the  retreat  of  him 
who  furnished  it  were  so  unaccountable;  his  person  was  so 
dignified  and  commanding;  his  resolution  so  superior,  and 
his  interference  so  decisive,  that  the  inhabitants  believed  him 
to  be  an  angel,  sent  by  Heaven  for  their  preservation. 


LESSON   XII. 

Sometimes  you  must  use  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice 
when  you  come  to  a  semicolon,  as  in  the  following 

EXAMPLES. 

174.  Let  your  dress  be  sober,  clean,  and  modest;  not  to 
set  off  the  beauty  of  your  person,  but  to  declare  the  sobriety 
of  your  mind;  that  your  outward  garb  may  resemble  the  in- 
ward plainness  and  simplicity  of  your  heart. 

175.  In  meat  and  drink,  observe  the  rules  of  Christian 
temperance  and  sobriety ;  consider  your  body  only  as  the 
servant  and  minister  of  your  soul ;  and  only  so  nourish  it, 
as  it  may  best  perform  an  humble  and  obedient  service. 

176.  Condescend  to  all  the  weakness  and  infirmities  of 
your  fellow-creatures;  cover  their  frailties;  love  their  excel- 
lences; encourage  their  virtues;  relieve  their  wants;  rejoice 
in  their  prosperity;  compassionate  their  distress;  receive  their 
friendship;  overlook  their  unkindness;  forgive  their  malice; 
be  a  servant  of  servants;  and  condescend  to  do  the  lowest 
offiGes  for  the  lowest  of  mankind. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  41 

177.  Struck  with  the  sight  of  so  fine  a  tree,  he  hastened 
to  liis  own,  hoping  to  find  as  large  a  crop  upon  it;  but,  to  his 
great  surprise,  he  saw  scarcely  any  thing,  except  branches, 
covered  with  moss,  and  a  few  yellow  leaves. 

178.  In  sleep's  serene  oblivion  laid,  I've  safely  passed  the 
silent  night ;  again  I  see  the  breaking  shade,  again  behold 
tiie  morning  light. 

179.  New-born,  I  bless  the  waking  hour ;  once  more,  with 
awe,  rejoice  to  be ;  my  conscious  soul  resumes  her  power, 
and  soars,  my  guardian  God,  to  thee. 

180.  That  deeper  shade  shall  break  away;  that  deeper 
sleep  shall  leave  mine  eyes;  thy  light  shall  give  eternal 
day ;  thy  love,  the  rapture  of  the  skies. 

191.  In  the  sight  of  our  law  the  African  slave  trader  is  a 
pirate  and  a  felon ;  and  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  an  offender 
far  beyond  the  ordinary  depth  of  human  guilt. 

182.  Between  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose;  the 
spectacles  set  them  unhappily  wrong;  the  point  in  dispute 
was,  as  all  the  world  knows,  to  which  the  said  spectacles 
ought  to  belong. 

183.  What  hope  of  liberty  is  there  remaining,  if  whatever 
is  their  pleasure,  it  is  lawful  for  them  to  do;  if  what  is  lawful 
for  them  to  do,  they  are  able  to  do ;  if  what  they  are  able  to 
do,  they  dare  do;  if  what  they  dare  do,  they  really  execute; 
and  if  what  they  execute,  is  in  no  way  offensive  to  you  ? 

184.  Mercury,  I  won't  go  in  the  boat  with  that  fellow.  He 
has  murdered  his  countryman  ;  he  has  murdered  his  friend ; 
I  say  I  won't  go  in  the  boat  with  that  fellow ;  I  will  swim  over 
the  river;  I  can  swim  like  a  duck. 

185.  It  is  not  the  use  of  the  innocent  amusements  of  life 
which  is  dangerous,  but  the  abuse  of  them;  it  is  not  when 
they  are  occasionally,  but  when  they  are  constantly  pursued ; 
when  the  love  of  amusement  degenerates  into  a  passion;  and 
when,  from  being  an  occasional  indulgence,  it  becomes  an 
habitual  desire. 

186.  The  prevailing  color  of  the  body  of  a  tiger  is  a  deep 
tawny,  or  orange  yellow ;  the  face,  throat,  and  lower  part  of 
the  belly  are  nearly  white;  and  the  whole  is  traversed  by 
numerous  long  black  stripes. 

187.  The  horse,  next  to  the  Hottentot,  is  the  favorite  prey 
of  the  lion ;  and  the  elephant  and  camel  are  both  highly  rel- 
ished ;  while  the  sheep,  owing  probably  to  its  woolly  fleece, 
is  seldom  molested. 

188.  The  lion,  with  his  strong  teeth,  breaks  large  bones 

4# 


49 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


with  the  greatest  ease;  and  he  often  swallows  their  fragments 
along  with  the  flesh. 

189.  The  horse  is  quick-sighted;  he  can  see  things  in  the 
night  which  his  rider  cannot  perceive;  but  when  it  is  too 
dark  for  his  sight,  his -sense  of  smelling  is  his  guide. 

190.  In  summer,  horses  in  the  country  feed  on  grass,  or  on 
grass  and  oats;  in  winter,  they  eat  oats,  corn,  and  hay.  When 
grazing  in  the  pasture,  they  always  choose  the  shortest  grass, 
because  it  is  the  sweetest ;  and  as  they  have  cutting  teeth  in 
both  their  jaws,  they  can  eat  very  near  the  ground. 


LESSON  XIII. 

The  semicolon  is  sometimes  used  for  a  question ^  and  some- 
times as  an  exclamation. 

EXAMPLES. 

192.  Hast  thou  not  set  at  defiance  my  authority;  violated 
the  public  peace,  and  passed  thy  life  in  injuring  the  persons 
and  properties  of  thy  fellow-subjects  1 

193.  Oh,  it  was  impious ;  it  was  unmanly ;  it  was  poor  and 
pitiful ! 

194.  Have  not  you  too  gone  about  the  earth  like  an  evil 
genius;  blasting  the  fair  fruits  of  peace  and  industry;  plun- 
dering, ravaging,  killing  without  law,  without  justice,  merely 
to  gratify  an  insatiable  lust  for  dominion  ? 

195.  Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible  to  feeling  as  to 
sight?  Or  art  thou  but  a  dagger  of  the  mind  ;  a  false  crea- 
tion, proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain? 

196.  Has  Mercury  struck  thee  with  his  enfeebling  rod ; 
or  art  thou  ashamed  to  betray  thy  awkwardness?  [^This 
sentence  should  he  read  as  directed  in  Lesson  4.] 

197.  By  such  apologies  shall  man  insult  his  Creator;  and 
shall  he  hope  to  flatter  the  ear  of  Omnipotence?  Think  you 
that  such  excuses  will  gain  new  importance  in  their  ascent 
to  the  Majesty  on  high ;  and  will  you  trust  the  interests  of 
eternity  in  the  hands  of  these  superficial  advocates? 

198.  And  shall  not  the  Christian  blush  to  repine;  the 
Christian,  from  before  whom  the  veil  is  removed ;  to  whose 
eyes  are  revealed  the  glories  of  \eaven? 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  43 

199.  Why,  for  so  many  a  year,  has  the  poet  and  the  philoso- 
pher wandered  amidst  the  fragments  of  Athens  or  of  Rome; 
and  paused,  with  strange  and  kindling  feelings,  amidst  their 
broken  columns,  their  mouldering  temples,  their  deserted 
plains?  It  is  because  their  day  of  glory  is  passed;  it  is  be- 
cause their  name  is  obscured;  their  power  is  departed;  their 
influence  is  lost! 

200.  Where  are  they  who  taught  these  stones  to  grieve ; 
where  are  the  hands  that  hewed  them ;  and  the  hearts  that 
reared  them? 

201.  Hope  ye  by  these  to  avert  oblivion's  doom ;  in  grief 
ambitious,  and  in  ashes  vain? 

202.  Can  no  support  be  offered ;  can  no  source  of  confi- 
dence be  named? 

203.  Is  this  the  man  that  made  the  earth  to  tremble ;  that 
shook  the  kingdoms;  that  made  the  world  like  a  desert; 
that  destroyed  the  cities  ? 

203.  Falsely  luxurious,  will  not  man  awake ;  and,  spring- 
ing from  the  bed  of  sloth,  enjoy  the  cool,  the  fragrant,  and 
the  silent  hour,  to  meditation  due  and  sacred  song? 

204.  But  who  shall  speak  before  the  king  when  he  is  trou- 
bled ;  and  who  shall  boast  of  knowledge  when  he  is  distressed 
by  doubt  ? 

205.  Who  would  in  such  a  gloomy  state  remain  longer 
than  nature  craves ;  when  every  muse  and  every  blooming 
pleasure  wait  without,  to  bless  the  wildly  devious  morning 
walk? 

206.  Farewell !  May  the  smile  of  Him  who  resides  in 
the  heaven  of  heavens  be  upon  thee ;  and  against  thy  name, 
in  the  volume  of  his  will,  may  happiness  be  written ! 

207.  What  a  glorious  monument  of  human  invention,  that 
has  thus  triumphed  over  wind  and  wave;  has  brought  the 
ends  of  the  earth  in  communion ;  has  established  an  inter- 
change of  blessings,  pouring  into  the  sterile  regions  of  the 
north  all  the  luxuries  of  the  south;  diffused  the  light  of 
knowledge  and  the  charities  of  cultivated  life;  and  has  thus 
bound  together  those  scattered  portions  of  the  human  race, 
between  which,  nature  seems  to  have  thrown  an  insurmount- 
able barrier ! 

20S.  Who  that  bears  a  human  bosom,  hath  not  often  felt, 
liovv  dear  are  all  those  ties  which  bind  our  race  in  gentleness 
together ;  and  how  sweet  their  force,  let  fortune's  wayward 
Hand  the  while  be  kind  or  cruel? 

209.    If  it  was  intended  for  us  as  well  as  you,  why  has  not 


44  INTRODtJCTORY    LESSONS. 

the  Great  Spirit  given  it  to  us ;  and  not  only  to  us,  but  why- 
did  he  not  give  to  our  forefathers  the  knowledge  of  that  book, 
with  the  means  of  rightly  understanding  it  ? 


LESSON    XIV. 

THE    COLON. 

The  Colon  consists  of  two  periods  placed  one  above  the  other  j 
thus  2 

Sometimes  the  passage  ending  with  a  colon  is  to  he  read 
with  the  voice  suspended ;  but  it  should  generally  be  read 
with  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice.  In  this  lesson  the 
falling  inflection  is  required. 

Be  careful  to  let  this  pause  he  a  total  cessation  of  the 
VOICE,  — longer  than  that  indicated  by  a  comma,  or  by  a  semi- 
colon. 

EXAMPLES. 

210.  The  smile  of  gayety  is  often  assumed  while  the  heart 
aches  within :  though  folly  may  laugh,  guilt  will  sting. 

211.  There  is  no  mortal  truly  wise  and  restless  at  the  same 
time :  wisdom  is  the  repose  of  the  mind. 

212.  Nature  felt  her  inability  to  extricate  herself  from  the 
consequences  of  guilt:  the  gospel  reveals  the  plan  of  Divine 
interposition  and  aid. 

213.  Nature  confessed  some  atonement  to  be  necessary  : 
the  gospel  discovers  that  the  atonement  is  made. 

2i4.  Law  and  order  are  forgotten :  violence  and  rapine 
are  abroad  :  the  golden  cords  of  society  are  loosed. 

215.  The  temples  are  profaned  :  the  soldier's  curse  re- 
sounds in  the  house  of  God  :  the  marble  pavement  is  tram- 
pled by  iron  hoofs :  horses  neigh  beside  the  altar. 

216.  Blue  wreaths  of  smoke  ascend  through  the  trees, 
and  betray  the  half-hidden  cottage:  the  eye  contemplates 
well-thatched  ricks,  and  barns  bursting  with  plenty :  the 
peasant  laughs  at  the  approach  of  winter. 

217.  The  necessaries  of  life  are  few,  and  industry  secures 
them  to  every  man:  it  is  the  elegancies  of  life  that  empty  the 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  45 

purse*  the  knick-knacks  of  fashion,  the  gratification  of  pride, 
and  the  indulgence  of  luxury,  make  a  man  poor. 

218.  Your  tree  was  as  fruitful,  and  in  as  good  order  as 
his :  it  bore  as  many  blossoms,  and  grew  in  the  same  soil : 
only  it  was  not  fostered  with  the  same  care.  Edmund  has 
kept  his  tree  clear  of  hurtful  insects :  you  have  suffered  them 
to  eat  up  yours  in  its  blossom. 

219.  My  dear  children,  I  give  you  these  trees :  you  see 
that  they  are  in  good  condition.  They  will  thrive  as  much 
by  your  care  as  they  will  decline  by  your  negligence :  their 
fruits  will  reward  you  in  proportion  to  your  labor. 

220.  But  Abraham  pressed  him  greatly :  so  he  turned,  and 
they  went  into  the  tent:  and  Abraham  baked  unleavened 
bread,  and  they  did  eat. 

221.  A  bee  among  the  flowers  in  spring  is  one  of  the 
most  cheerful  objects  that  can  be  looked  upon.  Its  life  ap- 
pears to  be  all  enjoyment :  so  busy  and  so  pleased  :  yet  it  is 
only  a  specimen  of  insect  life,  with  which,  by  reason  of  the 
animal  being  half  domesticated,  we  happen  to  be  better  ac- 
quainted. 

222.  'Tis  a  picture  in  memory  distinctly  defined,  with 
the  strong  and  unperishing  colors  of  mind :  a  part  of  my 
being  beyond  my  control,  beheld  on  that  cloud,  and  tran- 
scribed on  my  soul. 

223.  Bare  trees  and  shrubs  but  ill  you  know  could  shelter 
them  from  rain  or  snow  :  stepping  into  their  nests  they  pad- 
dled :  themselves  were  chilled,  their  eggs  were  addled :  soon 
every  father  bird  and  mother  grew  quarrelsome  and  pecked 
each  other. 

224.  Yet  such  is  the  destiny  of  all  on  earth :  so  flour- 
ishes and  fades  majestic  man. 

225.  Let  those  deplore  their  doom  whose  hopes  still 
grovel  in  this  dark  sojourn :  but  lofty  souls,  who  look  be- 
yond the  tomb,  can  smile  at  fate,  and  wonder  why  they 
mourn. 

226.  If  for  my  faded  brow  thy  hand  prepare  some  fu- 
ture wreath,  let  me  the  gifl  resign  :  transfer  the  rosy  gar- 
land :  let  it  bloom  around  the  temples  of  that  friend  be- 
loved, on  whose  maternal  bosom,  even  now,  I  lay  my  aching 
head. 

227.  We  do  not  understand  these  things:  we  are  told 
that  your  religion  was  given  to  your  forefathers,  and  has 
been  handed  down  from  father  to  son.  We  also  have  a 
religion  which  was  given  to  our  forefathers,  and  has  been 


46  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

handed  down  to  us:  it  teaches  us  to  be  thankful  for  all 
favors  received,  to  love  each  other,  and  to  be  united:  we 
never  quarrel  about  religion. 


LESSON    XV. 

THE    COLON,  — continued. 

In  this  lesson  the  passages  ending  with  a  colon  are  to 
be  read  with  the  voice  suspended.     {See  Lesson  9th.) 

228.  Do  not  flatter  yourselves  with  the  hope  of  perfect 
happiness :  there  is  no  such  thing  in  the  world. 

229.  He  was  often  heard  to  say :  I  have  done  with  the 
world ;  and  I  am  willing  to  leave  it. 

229.    Be  not  a  niggard  of  your  speech  :  how  goes  it  1 

229.  Those  will  be  bad  days  to  acquire  and  cultivate  the 
spirit  of  devotion :  but  the  spirit  of  devotion,  acquired,  and 
cultivated,  and  confirmed  before,  will  convert  those  bad  days 
into  good  ones. 

230.  But,  when  old  age  has  on  your  temples  shed  her 
silver  frost,  there's  no  returning  sun  :  swift  flies  our  summer, 
swift  our  autumn's  fled,  when  youth,  and  spring,  and  golden 
joys,  are  gone. 

231.  A  divine  legislator,  uttering  his  voice  from  heaven; 
an  almighty  governor,  stretching  forth  his  arm  to  punish  or 
reward ;  informing  us  of  perpetual  rest  prepared  hereafter 
for  the  righteous,  and  of  indignation  and  wrath  awaiting  the 
wicked :  these  are  the  considerations  which  overawe  the 
world,  which  support  integrity,  and  check  guilt. 

232.  Not  to  the  rosy  maid,  whom  former  hours  beheld 
me  fondly  covet,  tune  I  now  the  melancholy  lyre:  but  'tis 
to  thee,  O  Sickness !  'tis  to  thee  I  wake  the  silent  strings. 

233.*  A  boy  at  school  is  by  no  means  at  liberty  to  read 
what  books  he  pleases :  he  must  give  attention  to  those 
which  contain  his  lessons;  so  that  when  he  is  called  upon 
to  recite,  he  may  be  ready,  fluent,  and  accurate  in  repeating 
the  portion  assigned  him. 

233.  A  poet  is  by  no  means  at  liberty  to  invent  what 
system  of  the  marvellous  he  pleases :  he  must  avail  himself 

*  See  note  on  page  33. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  47 

either  of  the  religious  faith,  or  the  superstitious  credulity 
of  the  country  wherein  he  lives ;  so  as  to  give  an  air  of 
probability  to  events  which  are  most  contrary  to  the  com- 
mon course  of  nature. 

2J34.*  It  is  not  only  in  the  school-room,  that  attention 
should  be  given  to  your  books :  there  is  a  place,  one  not 
like  a  school-room ;  I  mean  your  own  chamber :  where  you 
can  find  many  opportunities  of  acquiring  knowledge. 

234.  It  is  not  only  in  the  sacred  fane  that  homage  should 
be  paid  to  the  Most  High :  there  is  a  temple,  one  not  made 
with  hands;  the  vaulted  firmament:  far  in  the  woods,  almost 
beyond  the  sound  of  city-chime,  at  intervals  heard  through 
the  breezeless  air. 

235.  As  we  perceive  the  shadow  to  have  moved  along 
the  dial,  but  did  not  perceive  its  moving;  and  it  appears 
that  the  grass  has  grown,  though  nobody  ever  saw  it  grow : 
so  the  advances  we  make  in  knowledge,  as  they  consist  of 
such  minute  steps,  are  perceivable  only  by  the  distance 
gone  over. 

236.  When  the  proud  steed  shall  know  why  man  restrains 
his  fiery  course,  or  drives  him  o'er  the  plains ;  when  the  dull 
ox,  why  now  he  breaks  the  clod,  is  now  a  victim,  and  now 
Egypt's  god  :  then  shall  man's  pride  and  dulness  compre- 
hend his  actions',  passions',  being's  use  and  end. 

237.  Jehovah,  God  of  hosts,  hath  sworn,  saying :  Surely 
as  I  have  devised,  so  shall  it  be ;  and  as  I  have  purposed, 
so  shall  it  stand. 

238.  That  day  he  wore  a  riding  coat,  but  not  a  whit  the 
warmer  he :  another  was  on  Thursday  brought,  and  ere  the 
Sabbath  he  had  three. 

239.  George,  you  must  not  laugh  at  me;  I  will  not  bear 
It.  You  forget  what  you  are  about  when  you  ridicule  me : 
I  know  more  than  you  do  about  the  lessons. 

239.  Brutus,  bay  not  me;  I'll  not  endure  it.  You  for- 
get yourself,  to  hedge  me  in :  I  am  a  soldier,  older  in  prac- 
tice, abler  than  yourself  to  make  conditions. 

240.  I  never  heard  a  word  about  it  before,  said  George, 
yesterday:  who  told  you  about  it,  Charles? 

240.  I  never  heard  one  word  of  it  before,  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  hastily :  how  came  he  there.  Trim  ? 

241.  Thou  shalt  pronounce  this  parable  upon  the  king 
of  Babylon;  and  shalt  say:  How  hath  the  oppressor  ceased? 

*  See  note  on  pap^e  33. 


48  INTRODUCTORY    LESSOMS. 


LESSON    XVI 


THE  PARENTHESIS,  CROTCHETS,  AND 
BRACKETS 

A  Parenthesis  is  a  sentence^  or  part  of  a  sentence,  en- 
closed between  two  curved  lines  like  these  (  ) 

The  curved  lines  in  which  the  parenthesis  is  enclosed  are 
called  Crotchets. 

The  parenthesis,  with  the  crotchets  lohich  enclose  it,  is 
generally  inserted  between  the  words  of  another  sentence, 
and  may  be  omitted  without  injuring  the  sense. 

The  parenthesis  should  generally  be  read  in  a  quicker  and 
lower  tone  of  voice  than  the  other  parts  of  the  sentence  in 
which  it  stands. 

Sometimes  a  sentence  is  enclosed  in  marks  like  these  [  ] 
which  are  called  Brackets.* 

Sentences  which  are  included  within  crotchets  or  brackets, 
should  generally  be  read  in  a  quicker  and  lower  tone  of  voice. 


EXAMPLES. 

242.  I  asked  my  eldest  son  (a  boy  who  never  was  guilty 
of  a  falsehood)  to  give  me  a  correct  account  of  the  matter. 

243.  The  master  told  me  that  the  lesson  (which  was  a 
very  difficult  one)  was  recited  correctly  by  every  pupil  in 
the  class. 

244.  When  they  were  both  turned  of  forty,  (an  age  in 
which,  according  to  Mr.  Cowley,  there  is  no  dallying  with 
life,)  they  determined  to  retire,  and  pass  the  remainder  of 
their  days  in  the  country. 

245.  Notwithstanding  all  this  care  of  Cicero,  history 
informs  us,  that  Marcus  proved  a  mere  blockhead ;  and 
that  nature  (who,  it  seems,  was  even  with  the  son  for  her 

*  Although  the  crotchet  and  the  bracket  are  sometimes  indiscriminately 
used,  the  following  difference  in  their  use  may  generally  be  noticed  :  Crotchets 
are  used  to  enclose  a  sentence,  or  part  of  a  sentence,  which  is  inserted  between 
the  parts  of  another  sentence :  brackets  are  generally  used  to  separate  two 
subjects,  or  to  enclose  an  explanation,  note,  or  observation,  standing  b}'  itself. 
When  a  parenthesis  occurs  within  another  parenthesis,  brackets  enclose  the 
former,  and  crotchets  enclose  the  latter.  See  No.  263. 
Fox's  Grammar,  Part  III.,  page  30. 


INTEODUCTORY   LESSONS.  49 

prodigality  to  the  father)  rendered  him  incapable  of  im- 
proving, by  all  the  rules  of  eloquence,  the  precepts  of  phi- 
losophy, his  own  endeavors,  and  the  most  refined  conversa- 
tion in  Athens. 

246.  Natural  historians  observe  (for  whilst  1  am  in  the 
country  I  must  fetch  my  allusions  from  thence)  that  only 
the  male  birds  have  voices;  that  their  songs  begin  a  little 
before  breeding-time,  and  end  a  little  after. 

247.  Dr.  Clark  has  observed,  that  Homer  is  more  per- 
spicuous than  any  other  author;  but  if  he  is  so,  (which  yet 
may  be  questioned,)  the  perspicuity  arises  from  his  subject, 
and  not  from  the  language  itself  in  which  he  writes. 

248.  The  many  letters  which  come  to  me  from  persons 
of  the  best  sense  of  both  sexes  (for  I  may  pronounce  their 
characters  from  their  way  of  writing)  do  not  a  little  en- 
courage me  in  the  prosecution  of  this  my  undertaking. 

249.  It  is  this  sense  which  furnishes  the  imagination  with 
its  ideas;  so  that  by  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  or 
fancy,  (terms  which  I  shall  use  promiscuously,)  1  here  mean 
such  as  arise  from  visible  objects. 

250.  The  stomach  (cramm'd  from  every  dish,  a  tomb  of 
boiled  and  roast,  and  flesh  and  fish,  where  bile,  and  wind, 
and  phlegm,  and  acid,  jar,  and  all  the  man  is  one  intestine 
war)  remembers  oft  the  school-boy's  simple  fare,  the  tem- 
perate sleeps,  and  spirits  light  as  air. 

251.  William  Penn  was  distinguished  from  his  com- 
panions by  wearing  a  blue  sash  of  silk  network,  (which  it 
seems  is  still  preserved  by  Mr.  Kett  of  Seething-hall,  near 
Norwich,)  and  by  having  in  his  hand  a  roll  of  parchment, 
on  which  was  engrossed  the  confirmation  of  the  treaty  of 
purchase  and  amity. 

252.  Again,  would  your  worship  a  moment  suppose,  ('tis 
a  case  that  has  happened,  and  may  be  again,)  that  the  visage 
or  countenance  had  not  a  nose,  pray  who  would,  or  who 
could,  wear  spectacles  then? 

253.  Upon  this  the  dial-plate  (if  we  may  credit  the  fable) 
changed  countenance  with  alarm. 

254.  To  speak  of  nothing  else,  the  arrival  of  the  Eng- 
lish in  her  father's  dominions  must  have  appeared  (as  indeed 
it  turned  out  to  be)  a  most  portentous  phenomenon. 

255.  Surely,  in  this  age  of  invention  something  may  be 
struck  out  to  obviate  the  necessity  (if  such  necessity  exists) 
of  so  tasking  the  human  intellect. 

25G.    I  compassionate  the  unfortunates  now,  (at  this  very 
5 


50  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

moment,  perhaps,)  screwed  up  perpendicularly  in  the  seat 
of  torture,  having  in  the  right  hand  a  fresh-nibbed  patent 
pen,  dipped  ever  and  anon  into  the  ink-bottie,  as  if  to  hook 
up  ideas,  and  under  the  outspread  palm  of  the  left  hand  a 
fair  sheet  of  best  Bath  post,  (ready  to  receive  thoughts  yet 
unhatched,)  on  which  their  eyes  are  rivetted  with  a  stare  of 
disconsolate  perplexity,  infinitely  touching  to  a  feeling  mind. 

257.  Oh  the  unspeakable  relief  (could  such  a  machine 
be  invented)  of  having  only  to  grind  tin  answer  to  one  of 
one's  dear  five  hundred  friends! 

25S.  Have  I  not  groaned  under  similar  horrors,  from  the 
hour  when  I  was  first  shut  up  (under  lock  and  key,  I  believe) 
to  indite  a  dutiful  epistle  to  an  honored  aunt  ? 

259.  To  such  unhappy  persons,  then,  I  would  fain  oflfer  a 
few  hints,  (the  fruit  of  long  experience,)  which  may  prove 
serviceable  in  the  hour  of  emergency. 

269.  If  ever  you  should  come  to  Modena,  (where,  among 
other  relics,  you  may  see  Tassoni's  bucket,)  stop  at  a  palace 
near  the  Reggio  gate,  dwelt  in  of  old  by  one  of  the  Donati. 

261.  My  father  and  my  uncle  Toby  (clever  soul)  were 
sitting  by  the  fire  with  Dr.  Slop ;  and  Corporal  Trim  (a 
brave  and  honest  fellow)  was  reading  a  sermon  to  them.  —  As 
the  sermon  contains  many  parentheses,  and  affords  an  op- 
portunity also  of  showing  you  a  sentence  in  brackets,  (you 
will  observe  that  all  the  previous  parentheses  in  this  lesson 
are  enclosed  in  crotchets,)  I  shall  insert  some  parts  of  it  in 
the  following  numbers.     [See  No.  262,  263,  &c.] 

262.  To  have  the  fear  of  God  before  our  eyes,  and  in  our 
mutual  dealings  with  each  other,  to  govern  our  actions  by 
the  eternal  measures  of  right  and  wrong:  the  first  of  these 
will  comprehend  the  duties  of  religion  ;  the  second  those  of 
morality,  which  are  so  inseparably  connected  together,  that 
you  cannot  divide  these  two  tables,  even  in  imagination, 
(though  the  attempt  is  often  made  in  practice,)  without 
breaking  and  mutually  destroying  them  both.  [Here  my 
father  observed  that  Dr.  Slop  was  fast  asleep.]  I  said  the 
attempt  is  often  made;  and  so  it  is;  there  being  nothing 
more  common  than  to  see  a  man  who  has  no  sense  at  all  of 
religion,  and,  indeed,  has  so  much  honesty  as  to  pretend  to 
none,  who  would  take  it  as  the  bitterest  affront,  should  you 
but  hint  at  a  suspicion  of  his  moral  character,  or  imagine  he 
was  not  conscientiously  just  and  scrupulous  to  the  uttermost 
mite. 


INTKODUCTORi^    LESSONS.  51 

263.  I  know  the  banker  I  deal  vvitli,  or  the  physician  I 
usually  call  in,  [There  is  no  need,  cried  Dr.  Slop  (waking) 
to  call  in  any  physician  in  this  case,]  to  be  neither  of  them 
men  of  much  religion. 

264.  For  a  general  proof  of  this,  examine  the  history  of 
the  Romish  Church:  [Well,  what  can  you  make  of  that? 
cried  Dr.  Slop:]  see  wliat  scenes  of  cruelty,  murder,  rapine, 
bloodshed,  [They  may  thank  their  own  obstinacy,  cried 
Dr.  Slop,]  have  all  been  sanctified  by  religion  not  strictly 
governed  by  morality. 

26'5.  Experienced  schoolmasters  may  quickly  make  a 
grammar  of  boys'  natures,  and  reduce  them  all  (saving 
some  few  exceptions)  to  certain  general  rules, 

266.  Ingenious  boys,  who  are  idle,  think,  with  the  hare 
in  the  fable,  that,  running  with  snails,  (so  they  count  the 
rest  of  their  school-fellows,)  they  shall  come  soon  enough 
to  the  post;  though  sleeping  a  good  while  before  their 
starting. 


LESSON    XVII. 

THE    DASH. 

The  Dash  is  a  straight  mark  like  this  — 

The  dash  is  sometimes  used  to  express  a  sudden  stop,  or 
change  in  the  subject. 

Sometimes  the  dash  requires  a  pause  no  longer  than  a 
com7na,  and  sometimes  a  longer  pause  than  a  period. 

The  dash  is  frequently/  used  instead  of  crtftchcts  or  brackets^ 
and  a  parenthesis  is  thus  placed  bettoccn  two  dashes.  [See 
iV/m6cr281.] 

The  dash  is  sometimes  used  to  precede  something  unex- 
pected;  as  when  a  sentence  beginning  seriously  ends  hu- 
morously.    [Sec  Numbers  311  ^o  318.] 

In  the  following  sentences  the  dash  expresses  a  sudden  stop, 
or  change  of  the  subject. 

EXAMPLES. 

.    267.    If  you  will  give  me  your  attention,  I  will  show  you  — 
but  stop,  I  do  not  know  that  you  wish  to  see. 


52  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

268.  Alas  !  that  folly  and  falsehood  should  be  so  hard 
to  grapple  with — but  he  that  hopes  to  make  mankind  the 
wiser  for  his  labors,  must  not  be  soon  tired. 

269.  I  stood  to  hear  —  I  love  it  well  —  the  rain's  con- 
tinuous sound ;  small  drops,  but  thick  and  fast  they  fell, 
down  straight  into  the  ground. 

270.  He  set  up  the  most  piercing  and  dreadful  cries  that 
fear  ever  uttered  —  I  may  well  term  them  dreadful,  for  they 
haunted  my  sleep  for  years  afterwards. 

271.  Each  zone  obeys  thee  —  thou  goest  forth  dread, 
fathomless,  alone. 

272.  Please  your  honors,  quoth  Trim,  the  inquisition  is 

the   vilest .     Prithee   spare    thy  description,  Trim.      I 

hate  the  very  name  of  it,  said  my  father. 

273.  The  fierce  wolf  prowls  around  thee  —  there  he 
stands  listening  —  not  fearful,  for  he  nothing  fears. 

274.  The  wild  stag  hears  thy  falling  waters'  sound,  and 
tremblingly  flies  forward  —  o'er  his  back  he  bends  his  state- 
ly horns  —  the  noiseless  ground  his  hurried  feet  impress  not 
—  and  his  track  is  lost  amidst  the  tumult  of  the  breeze,  and 
the  leaves  falling  from  the  rustling  trees. 

275.  The  wild  horse  thee  approaches  in  his  turn.  His 
mane  stands  up  erect  —  his  nostrils  burn  —  he  snorts  —  he 
pricks  his  ears  —  and  starts  aside. 

276.  The  music  ceased,  and  Hamish  Fraser,  on  coming 
back  into  the  shealing,  (or  shed,)  said,  I  see  two  men  on 
horseback  coming  up  the  glen  —  one  is  on  a  white  horse. 
Ay  —  blessed  be  God,  that  is  the  good  priest  —  now  will  I 
die  in  peace.  My  last  earthly  thoughts  are  gone  by  —  he 
will  show  me  the  salvation  of  Christ  —  the  road  that  leadeth 
to  eternal  life. 

277.  There  was  silence  —  not  a  word  was  said  —  their 
meal  was  before  them  —  God  had  been  thanked,  and  they 
began  to  eat. 

277.  They  hear  not  —  see  not  —  know  not  —  for  their 
eyes  are  covered  with  thick  mists  —  they  will  not  see. 

278.  The  God  of  gods  stood  up  —  stood  up  to  try  the 
assembled  gods  of  earth. 

279.  And  ye  like  fading  autumn  leaves  will  fall;  your 
throne  but  dust  —  your  empire  but  a  grave  —  your  martial 
pomp  a  black  funereal  pall  —  your  palace  trampled  by  your 
meanest  slave. 

280.  To-day  is  thine  —  improve  to-day,  nor  trust  to- 
morrow's distant  ray. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


53 


2S1.  And  thus,  in  silent  waiting,  stood  the  piles  of  stone 
and  piles  of  wood ;  till  Death,  who,  in  his  vast  affairs,  never 
puts  things  off — as  men  in  theirs  —  and  tliiis,  if  1  the  truth 
must  tell,  does  his  work  Ji nail i/  and  well — winked  at  our 
hero  as  he  passed,  —  Your  house  is  finished,  sir,  at  last; 
a  narrower  house  —  a  house  of  clay  —  your  palace  for 
another  day. 

282.  For  some  time  the  struggle  was  most  amusing  —  the 
fish  pulling,  and  the  bird  screaming  with  all  its  might  —  the 
one  attempting  to  fly,  and  the  other  to  swim  from  its  invisi- 
ble enemy  —  the  gander  at  one  moment  losing  and  the  next 
regaining  his  centre  of  gravity. 

The  dash  is  sometimes  to  be  read  as  a  period,  with  the  falling 
inflection  of  the  voice. 

283.  The  favored  child  of  nature,  who  combines  in  her- 
self these  united  perfections,  may  justly  be  considered  as  the 
masterpiece  of  creation  —  as  the  most  perfect  image  of  the 
Divinity  here  below. 

284.  Now  launch  the  boat  upon  the  wave  —  the  wind  is 
blowing  off  the  shore  —  I  will  not  live  a  cowering  slave,  in 
these  polluted  islands  more. 

285.  The  wind  is  blowing  off  the  shore,  and  out  to  sea 
the  streamers  fly  —  my  music  is  the  dashing  roar,  my  canopy 
the  stainless  sky  —  it  bends  above,  so  fair  a  blue,  that  heaven 
seems  opening  to  my  view. 

286.  He  had  stopped  sAon  after  beginning  the  tale  —  he 
had  laid  the  fragment  away  among  his  papers,  and  had  never 
looked  at  it  again. 

287.  The  exaltation  of  his  soul  left  him  —  he  sunk  down 
—  and  his  misery  went  over  him  like  a  flood. 

2S8.  May  their  fate  be  a  mock-word  —  may  men  of  all 
lands  laugh  out  with  a  scorn  that  shall  ring  to  the  poles. 

289.  You  speak  like  a  boy  —  like  a  boy  who  thinks  the 
old  gnarled  oak  can  be  twisted  as  easily  as  the  young 
sapling. 

290.  1  am  vexed  for  the  bairns  —  I  am  vexed  when  I 
think  of  Robert  and  Hamish  living  their  father's  life  —  But 
let  us  say  no  more  of  this. 

291.  He  hears  a  noise  —  he  is  all  awake  —  again  he 
hears  a  noise  —  on  tiptoe  down  the  hill  he  softly  creeps  — 
'Tis  Goody  Blake !     She  is  at  the  hedge  of  Harry  Gill. 

292.  Mr.  Playfair  was  too  indulgent,  in  truth,  and  favora- 

5* 


54  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

ble  to  his  friends  —  and  made  a  kind  of  liberal  allowance  for 
the  faults  of  all  mankind  —  except  only  faults  of  baseness  or 
of  cruelty ;  against  which  he  never  failed  to  manifest  the 
most  open  scorn  and  detestation. 

293.  Towards  women  he  had  the  most  chivalrous  feelings 
of  regard  and  attention,  and  was,  beyond  almost  all  men, 
acceptable  and  agreeable  in  their  society  —  though  with- 
out the  least  levity  or  pretension  unbecoming  his  age  or 
condition. 

The  clash  is  sometimes  to  be  read  like  a  comma^  with  the 

voice  suspended.     [See  Lesson  9M.] 

294.  Vain  men,  whose  brains  are  dizzy  with  ambition, 
bright  your  swords  —  your  garments  flowery,  like  a  plain  in 
the  spring-time  —  if  truth  be  your  delight,  and  virtue  your 
devotion,  let  your  sword  be  bared  alone  at  wisdom's  sacred 
word. 

295.  I  have  always  felt  that  I  could  meet  death  with  com- 
posure ;*but  I  did  not  know,  she  said,  with  a  tremulous  voice, 
her  lips  quivering  —  I  did  not  know  how  hard  a  thing  it 
would  be  to  leave  my  children,  till  now  that  the  hour  is 
come. 

296.  The  mountain  —  thy  pall  and  thy  prison  —  may 
keep  thee. 

297.  And  Babylon  shall  become  —  she  that  was  the 
beauty  of  kingdoms,  the  glory  of  the  pride  of  the  Chal- 
deans—  as  the  overthrow  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  by  the 
hand  of  God. 

298.  Our  land  —  the  first  garden  of  liberty's  tree  —  it  has 
been,  and  shall  yet  be,  the  land  of  the  free. 

299.  Earth  may  hide — waves  ingulf — fire  consume  us, 
but  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us. 

300.  They  shall  find  that  the  name  which  they  have 
dared  to  proscribe  —  that  the  name  of  Mac  Gregor  is  a  spell. 

301.  You  must  think  hardly  of  us  —  and  it  is  not  natural 
tliat  it  should  be  otherwise. 

302.  Delightful  in  his  manners  —  inflexible  in  his  prin- 
ciples—  and  generous  in  his  affections,  he  had  all  that  could 
charm  in  society,  or  attach  in  private. 

303.  The  joys  of  life  in  hurried  exile  go —  till  hope's  fair 
smile,  and  beauty's  ray  of  light,  are  shrouded  in  the  griefs 
and  storms  of  night. 

304.  Day    after   day  prepares   the   funeral    dhroud ;    tb" 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  55 

world  is  gray  with  age:  —  the  striking  hour  is  but  an  eclio 
of  death's  summons  loud  —  the  jarring  of  the  dark  grave's 
prison  door.  Into  its  deep  abyss — devouring  all  —  kings 
aiid  the  friends  of  kings  alike  must  fall. 

305.  No  persuasion  could  induce  little  Flora  to  leave  the 
shealing  —  and  Hamish  Fraser  was  left  to  sit  with  her  all 
night  beside  the  bed. 

306.  One  large  star  arose  in  heaven  —  and  a  wide  white 
glimmer  over  a  breaking  mass  of  clouds  told  that  the  moon 
was  struggling  through,  and  in  another  hour,  if  the  upper 
current  of  air  flowed  on,  would  be  apparent. 

307.  He  was  too  weak,  however,  to  talk  —  he  could  only 
look  iiis  thanks. 

308.  She  made  an  effort  to  put  on  something  like  mourn- 
ing for  her  son ;  and  nothing  could  be  more  touching  than 
this  strui£gle  between  pious  affection  and  utter  poverty  :  a 
black  ribbon  or  so — a  faded  black  handkerchief,  and  one 
or  tw  'Tiore  such  humble  attempts  to  express  by  outward 
sign>^  :rief  that  passeth  show. 

309.  v^.iC  great  clime,  whose  vigorous  offspring  by  di- 
viding ocean  are  kept  apart,  and  nursed  in  the  devotion  of 
freedom  which  their  fathers  fought  for  and  bequeathed  —  a 
heritage  of  heart  and  hand,  and  proud  distinction  from  each 
other  land,  whose  sons  must  bow  them  at  a  monarch's  mo- 
tion, as  if  his  senseless  sceptre  were  a  wand  full  of  the 
magic  of  exploded  science  —  still  one  great  clime,  in  full 
and  free  defiance,  yet  rears  her  crest,  unconquered  and  sub- 
lime, above  the  far  Atlantic. 

The  dash  sometimes  precedes  something  unexpected  t  as 
when  a  sentence  beginning  seriously  ends  humorously. 

310.  Good  people  all,  with  one  accord,  lament  for  Madam 
Blaize ;  who  never  wanted  a  good  word  —  from  those  who 
spoke  her  praise. 

311.  The  needy  seldom  passed  her  door,  and  always  found 
her  kind;  she  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor  —  who  left  a  pledge 
behind. 

312.  She  strove  the  neighborhood  to  please,  with  manner 
wondrous  winning;  and  never  followed  wicked  ways — ex- 
cept when  she  was  sinning. 

313.  At  church,  in  silks  and  satin  new,  with  hoop  of 
monstrous  size,  she  never  slumbered  in  her  pew  —  but  when 
she  shut  her  eyes. 


56  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

314.  Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver,  by  twenty  beaux, 
and  more;  the  king  himself  has  followed  her  —  when  she 
has  walked  before. 

315.  But  now,  her  wealth  and  finery  fled,  her  hangers-on 
cut  short  all;  her  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead  —  her 
last  disorder  mortal. 

316.  Let  us  lament,  in  sorrow  sore;  for  Kent  Street  well 
may  say,  that,  had  she  lived  a  twelve-month  more  —  she  had 
not  died  to-day. 

The  dash  is  sometimes  used  with  other  pauses  to  lengthen 
them. 

317.  That  God  whom  you  see  me  daily  worship,  whom 
I  daily  call  upon  to  bless  both  you  and  me  and  all  mankind; 
whose  wondrous  acts  are  recorded  in  those  Scriptures  which 
you  constantly  read,  —  that  God  who  created  the  heavens 
and  the  earth ;  who  appointed  his  Son  Jesus  Christ  to  re- 
deem mankind:  —  this  God,  who  has  done  all  these  great 
things,  who  has  created  so  many  millions  of  men,  with  whom 
the  spirits  of  the  good  will  live  and  be  happy  forever;  — 
this  great  God,  the  Creator  of  worlds  of  angels,  and  of  men, 
is  your  Father  and  Friend. 

318.  It  is  not,  therefore,  the  use  of  the  innocent  amuse- 
ments of  life  which  is  dangerous,  but  the  abuse  of  them;  — 
it  is  not  when  they  are  occasionally,  but  when  they  are  con- 
stantly pursued ;  when  the  love  of  amusement  degenerates 
into  a  passion,  and  when,  from  being  an  occasional  indul- 
gence, it  becomes  an  habitual  desire. 

319.  In  every  pursuit,  whatever  gives  strength  and  energy 
to  the  mind  of  man,  experience  teaches  to  be  favorable  to 
the  interests  of  piety,  of  knowledge,  and  of  virtue;  —  in 
every  pursuit,  on  the  contrary,  whatever  enfeebles  or  limits 
the  powers  of  the  mind,  the  same  experience  ever  shows  to 
be  hostile  to  the  best  interests  of  human  nature. 

320.  From  the  first  hour  of  existence  to  the  last,  —  from 
the  cradle  of  the  infant,  beside  which  the  mother  watches 
with  unslumbering  eye,  to  the  grave  of  the  aged,  where  the  son 
pours  his  last  tears  upon  the  bier  of  his  father,  —7  in  all  that 
intermediate  time,  every  day  calls  for  exertion  and  activity, 
and  moral  honors  can  only  be  won  by  the  steadfast  mag- 
nanimity of  pious  duty. 

321.  They  say  they  have  bought  it.  —  Bought  it!  Yes: 
—  of  whom  ?  —  Of  the  poor  trembling  natives,  who  knew 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  57 

that  refusal  would  be  vain ;  and  who  strove  to  make  a  merit 
of  necessity,  by  seeming  to  yield  with  grace,  what  they  knew 
they  had  not  the  power  to  retain. 

3'22.  We  gazed  on  the  scenes,  while  around  us  they 
glowed,  when  a  vision  of  beauty  appeared  on  the  cloud;  — 
it  was  not  like  the  sun,  as  at  mid-day  we  view,  nor  the  moon, 
that  rolls  nightly  through  star-light  and  blue. 

323.  It  is  not  the  lifeless  mass  of  matter,  he  will  then 
feel,  that  he  is  examining,  —  it  is  the  mighty  machine  of 
Eternal  Wisdom  :  the  workmanship  of  Him,  in  whom  every 
thing  lives,  and  moves,  and  has  its  being. 

324.  The  expanding  rose,  just  bursting  into  beauty,  has 
an  irresistible  bewitchingness;  —  the  blooming  bride  led 
triumphantly  to  the  hymeneal  altar,  awakens  admiration  and 
interest,  and  the  blush  of  her  cheek  fills  with  delight;  —  but 
the  charm  of  maternity  is  more  sublime  than  all  these. 

325.  But  Winter  has  yet  brighter  scenes;  —  he  boasts 
splendors  beyond  what"  gorgeous  Summer  knows,  or  Au- 
tumn, with  his  many  fruits  and  woods,  all  flushed  with  many 
hues. 

326.  When  suffering  the  inconveniences  of  the  ruder 
parts  of  the  year,  we  may  be  tempted  to  wonder  why  this 
rotation  is  necessary;  —  why  we  could  not  be  constantly 
gratified  with  vernal  bloom  and  fragrance,  or  summer  beauty 
and  profusion. 

327.  I  feared,  —  said  the  youth,  with  a  tear  in  his  eye, — 
I  feared  that  the  brute's  voice,  and  the  trampling  of  the 
horse's  feet,  would  disturb  her. 

328.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face;  the  hair  of  my 
flesh  stood  up:  It  stood  still,  but  I  could  not  discern  the 
form  thereof:  an  image  was  before  mine  eyes:  —  There 
was  silence,  and  I  heard  a  voice  —  Shall  mortal  man  be 
more  just  than  God  1 

The  dash  is  sometimes  to  be  read  as  a  question. 

329.  Is  it  not  enough  to  see  our  friends  die,  and  part  with 
them  for  the  remainder  of  our  days  —  to  reflect  that  we  shall 
hear  their  voices  no  more,  and  that  they  will  never  look  on 
us  again  —  to  see  that  turning  to  corruption,  which  was  but 
just  now  alive,  and  eloquent,  and  beautiful  with  all  the 
sensations  of  the  soul  ? 

330.  He  hears  the  ravens  cry ;  and  shall  he  not  hear,  and 
will  he  not  avenge,  the  wrongs  that  his  nobler  animals  suP 


58  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

fer  —  wrongs  that  cry  out  against  man  from  youth  to  age,  in 
the  city  and  in  the  field,  by  the  way  and  by  the  fireside  ? 

331.  Can  we  view  their  bloody  edicts  against  us — their 
hanging,  heading,  hounding,  and  hunting  down  an  ancient 
and  honorable  name  —  as  deserving  better  treatment  than 
that  which  enemies  give  to  enemies? 

332.  Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim,  lights 
of  the  world,  and  demi-gods  of  fame  ?  Is  this  your  triumph  — 
this  your  proud  applause,  children  of  truth,  and  champions 
of  her  cause? 

333.  Still  what  are  you  but  a  robber  —  a  base,  dishonest 
robber  ?     [See  Lesson  Sd,  page  21th.] 

334.  Was  there  ever  a  bolder  captain  of  a  more  valiant 
band  ?     Was  there  ever  —  but  I  scorn  to  boast. 

335.  And  what  if  thou  shalt  fall  unnoticed  by  the  liv- 
ing —  and  no  friend  take  note  of  thy  departure  ? 

336.  Seest  thou  yon  lonely  cottage  in  the  grove  —  with 
little  garden  neatly  planned  before  —  its  roof  deep-shaded 
by  the  elms  above,  moss-grown,  and  decked  with  velvet 
verdure  o'er? 

337.  What  shall  we  call  them?  —  Piles  of  crystal  light  — 
a  glorious  company  of  golden  streams  —  lamps  of  celestial 
ether  burning  bright  —  suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joy- 
ous beams?     [See  Lesson  5th,  page  28tk.] 

338.  Can  you  renounce  a  fortune  so  sublime  —  such 
glorious  hopes  —  your  backward  steps  to  steer,  and  roll, 
with  vilest  brutes,  through  mud  and  slime?  No!  no!  your 
heaven-touched  hearts  disdain  the  sordid  crime! 

The  dash  is  sometimes  to  be  read  like  an  exclamation. 

339.  Now  for  the  fight  —  now  for  the  cannon-peal  —  for- 
ward—  through  blood,  and  toil,  and  cloud,  and  fire! 

340.  They  shake  —  like  broken  waves  their  squares  re- 
tire,—  on  them,  hussars!  Now  give  them  rein  and  heel; 
think  of  the  orphaned  child,  the  murdered  sire:  —  earth 
cries  for  blood,  —  in  thunder  on  them  wheel !  This  hour  to 
Europe's  fate  shall  set  the  triumph  seal ! 

341.  What  dreadful  pleasure!  there  to  stand  sublime, 
like  shipwrecked  mariner  on  desert  coast,  and  see  the  enor- 
mous waste  of  vapor,  tossed  in  billows  lengthening  to  the 
horizon  round,  now  scooped  in  gulfs,  with  mountains  now 
embossed  —  and  hear  the  voice  of  mirth  and  song  rebound, 
flocks,  herds,  and  waterfalls,  along  the  hoar  profound ! 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  59 

342.  The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me;  in  me  is 
matter's  last  gradation  lost,  and  the  next  step  is  spirit  — 
Deity!     I  can  command  the  lightning,  and  am  dust! 

343.  Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say.  Unworthy  office 
here  to  stay !  no  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day  —  but,  see, 
look  up  —  on  Flodden  bent,  the  Scottish  foe  has  fired 
his  tent. 

'  344.  Good  God  1  that  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 
worth  ages  of  history  —  when,  had  you  but  hurled  one  bolt 
at  your  bloody  invader,  that  strife  between  freemen  and 
tyrants  had  spread  through  the  world;  that  then  —  O,  dis- 
grace upon  manhood!  e'en  then  you  should  falter  —  should 
cling  to  your  pitiful  breath,  —  cower  down  into  beasts,  when 
you  might  have  stood  men;  and  prefer  a  slave's  life  to  a 
glorious  death  ! 

345.  Beneath  the  very  shadow  of  the  fort,  where  friendly 
swords  were  drawn,  and  banners  flew,  ah!  who  could  deem 
that  foot  of  Indian  crew  was  near  1  —  Yet  there,  with  lust  of 
murderous  deeds,  gleamed  like  a  basilisk,  from  woods  in 
view,  the  ambushed  foeman's  eye  —  His  volley  speeds,  and 
Albert — Albert  —  falls!  the  dear  old  father  bleeds! 

346.  Above  me  are  the  Alps,  the  palaces  of  Nature, 
whose  vast  walls  have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their  snowy  scalps, 
and  throned  Eternity  in  icy  halls  of  cold  sublimity,  where 
forms  and  falls  the  avalanche  —  the  thunderbolt  of  snow  ! 

347.  Now,  now,  the  secret  I  implore;  out  with  it  —  speak 

—  discover  —  utter  ! 

348.  Peace !  I'd  not  go  if  staying  here  would  strew  his 
hoar  hairs  in  the  tomb  —  not  stir,  by  Heaven  !  Must  I  toss 
counters?  sum  the  odds  of  life,  when  honor  points  the  way? 

—  When  was  the  blood  of  Douglas  precious  in  a  noble  cause? 

349.  How  has  expectation  darkened  into  anxiety  —  anxie- 
ty into  dread  —  and  dread  into  despair!  Alas!  not  one 
memento  shall  ever  return  for  love  to  cherish.  All  that  shall 
ever  be  known  is,  that  she  sailed  from  her  port,  and  was 
never  heard  of  more. 

350.  A  measure  of  corn  would  hardly  suffice  me  fine  flour 
enough  for  a  month's  provision,  and  this  arises  to  above  six 
score  bushels ;  and  many  hogsheads  of  wine  and  other  liquors 
have  passed  through  this  body  of  mine  —  this  wretched 
strainer  of  meat  and  drink !  And  what  have  I  done  all  this 
time  for  God  and  man?  What  a  vast  profusion  of  good 
things  upon  a  useless  life  and  a  worthless  liver ! 

351.  Ay,  cluster  there,  cling  to  your  masters;  judges, 
Romans  —  slaves ! 


60  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS- 

LESSON    XVIII. 

THE    HYPHEN. 

The  Hyphen  is  a  little  mark  like  this  -  It  resembles  a 
dash,  but  is  not  so  long. 

The  hyphen  is  used  to  separate  the  syllables  of  a  word; 
or  to  make  one  word  of  tioo ;  as,  semi-circie,  sea-water. 

JVhen  there  is  not  room  enough  in  the  line  for  the  whole 
of  a  word,  some  of  its  syllables  are  put  into  the  line  with  a 
hyphen,  and  the  remainder  in  the  next  line :  as,  extraor- 
dinary. 

TVhen  a  hyphen  is  placed  over  the  letters  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  or  y, 
it  shoios  that  they  have  their  long  sound. 

[The  pupil  may  tell  for  what  purpose  the  hyphen  is  used 
in  the  following  words.] 

352.  Extraneous,  sea-water,  semi-circle,  demi-gods,  Seeth- 
ing-hall,  Moss-side,  plane-trees,  bed-side,  Birk-knowe,  over- 
canopied,  toil-hardened,  gray-haired,  to-morrow,  Sabbath- 
day,  Sardanapalus,  ill-requited,  thunder-cloud,  European, 
Epicurean,  pine-covered,  clay-cold,  snow-clad,  parish-clerk, 
night-steed,  moon-eyed,  azure,  all-wise,  edict,  fellow-crea- 
tures, icy,  well-founded,  omega,  fellow-feeling,  uniform, 
prophesy,  earth-born,  far-wandering,  storm-clouds,  hyme- 
neal, chamber,  either,  fairy,  lever,  apiary,  culinary. 


LESSON    XIX. 

ELLIPSIS. 

Ellipsis   means   an   omission   of   some    word  or  words.* 
Sometimes  a  sentence  is  unfinished,  or  some  parts  of  it  are 

*  The  ellipsis  sometimes  refers  to  syllables  or  letters  only.     See  No.  359 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  61 

purposely  omitted;  and  the  mark  which  indicates  an  ellipsis ^ 
is  put  in  the  place  of  that  which  is  left  out. 

An  ellipsis  is  sometimes  indicated  by  a  mark  like  this 
,  which  resembles  a  dash  lengthened. 

Sometimes  the  ellipsis  is  denoted  by  asterisks,  or  stars,  like 
these     #**##* 

Sometimes  the  ellipsis  is  marked  by  small  dots,  or  periods, 
like  these     

And  sometimes  the  ellipsis  is  indicated  by  hyphens,  like 
these -- 

The  ellipsis  sometimes  so  closely  resembles  a  dash  that  it 
is  scarcely  distinguishable  from  it. 

The  voice  is  generally  suspended  at  an  ellipsis ;  but  the 
falling  inflection  is  frequently  used  when  the  ellipsis  follows 
a  question  or  exclamation.  In  some  of  the  following  sentences, 
•t/ie  dash  and  ellipsis  are  both  used. 

EXAMPLES. 

353.  Hast  thou But  how  shall  I  ask  a  question 

which  must  bring  tears  into  so  many  eyes! 

354.  The  air  breathes  invitation ;  easy  is  the  walk  to 
the  lake's  margin,  where  a  boat  lies  moored  beneath  her 
sheltering  tree.  — 

Forth  we  went,  and  down  the  valley,  on  the  streamlet's 
bank,  pursued  our  way,  a  broken  company,  mute  or  con- 
versing, single  or  in  pairs. 

355.  Who  is  here  so  vile,  that  will  not  love  his  country? 
if  any,-  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended,  —  I  pause  for  a 
reply  —^—^ 

None  !  then  none  have  I  offended. 

356.  It  is  in  vain  to  explain  :  —  the  time  it  would  take  to 
reveal  to  you 

Satisfy  my  curiosity  in  writing  them. 

357.  Indeed  he  is  very  ill,   sir, Can't  help  it. 


We  are  very  distressed, Can't   help  it. Our  poor 

children,  too Can't  help  that,  neither. 

358.  Now,  if  he  had  married  a  woman  with  money,  you 
know,  why,  then 

The  suppliant  turned  pale,  and  would  have  fainted, 

359.  I  have  been,  my  dear  S on  an  excursion 

through  the  counties  which  lie  along  the  eastern  side  of  the 
Blue  Ridge. 


62 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


360.  You  have  my  answer:  *  *  *  — let  my  actions 
speak. 

361.  No,  no,  Dionysius;  remember  that  it  was  I  alone 
who  displeased  thee  :  Damon  could  not 

362.  U  lie  were  all Remember  haughty  Henry,  the 

nephew  of  his  wife,  whose  word  could  speed  a  veteran  army 
to  his  kinsman's  aid. 

363.  I  would  not  wound  thee,  Douglas,  well  thou  know- 
est ;  but  thus  to  hazard  on  a  desperate  cast  thy  golden 
fortunes 


364.  For  thy  father's  sake 

Peace !  I'd  not  go  if  staying  here  would  strew  his  hoar 
hairs  in  the  tomb not  stir,  by  Heaven  ! 

365.  Nay,  hear  me,  hear  me,  Douglas 

—  Talk  to  me  of  dangers?     Death  and  shame!  is  not  my 
race  as  high,  as  ancient,  and  as  proud  as  thine? 

366.  Still  must  I  wonder ;  for  so  dark  a  cloud 

Oh,  deeper  than  thou  think'st  I've  read  thy  heart. 

367.  Your  grace  will  pardon  me  for  obeying 


Say  no  more,  my  child;  you  are  yet  too  raw  to  make 
proper  distinctions. 

368.  Let   them or   suppose  I   address   myself  to 

some  particular  sufferer  —  there  is  something  more  confi- 
dential in  that  manner  of  communicating  one's  ideas  —  as 
Moore  says.  Heart  speaks  to  heart  —  I  say,  then,  take  es- 
pecial care  to  write  by  candle-light. 

369.  To  such  unhappy  persons,  in  whose  miseries  I 
deeply  sympathize  -----  Have  I  not  groaned  under 
similar  horrors? 

370.  TAff^  spares  manual  labor  —  M/s  would  relieve  from 

mental  drudgery,  and  thousands  yet  unborn But  hold  ! 

I  am  not  so  sure  that  the  female  sex  in  general  may  quite 
enter  into  my  views  on  the  subject. 

371.  I   am   glad   to  see  you  well :  Horatio or  I  do 

forget  myself 

372.  Would  I  had  met  my  dearest  foe  in  heaven,  or  ever 
I  had  seen  that  day,  Horatio ! 

My  father methinks  I  see  my  father. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  63 

LESSON    XX. 

APOSTROPHE,    QUOTATION,   AND    DliERESIS. 

An  Apostrophe  is  a  mark  which  differs  from  a  comma  only 
in  being  placed  above  the  line ;  thus  ' 

The  apostrophe  shows  that  some  letter  or  letters  are  left 
out;  as,  'iisfor  it  is,  xho^  for  though,  lov'd  for  loved. 

The  apostrophe  is  likewise  used  in  grammar  to  designate 
the  possessive  case;  aSy  John's  book. 

A  Quotation  consists  of  four  commas  or  apostrophes;  two 
placed  at  the  beginning  and  tioo  at  the  end  of  a  word,  sentence, 
or  part  of  a  sentence.  The  two  which  are  placed  at  the  be- 
ginning are  inverted,  or  upside  doion. 

A  quotation  shows  that  the  word  or  sentence  was  spoken  by 
some  one,  or  was  taken  from  some  other  author. 

A  Diceresis  consists  of  two  periods  placed  over  a  vowel; 
thus,  a. 

The  diceresis  shows  that  the  letter  over  which  it  is  placed  is 
to  be  pronounced  separately ;  as,  creator,  Zoonomia,  aerial. 

[In  this  lesson  the  pupil  is  to  recognize  each  of  the  above-men- 
tioned marks,  and  explain  their  use.] 

EXAMPLES. 

373.  The  fox-howl's  heard  on  the  fell  (or  hilH  afar.* 

374.  The  kindling  fires  o'er  heaven  so  bright,  look  sweetly 
out  from  yon  azure  sea. 

375.  Banished  from  Rome !  what's  banished,  but  set  free 


*  In  this  lesson,  as  well  as  in  someof  the  preceding  lessons,  there  are  several 
sentences  of  poetry,  which  are  not  divided  into  poetical  lines.  The  reason  of 
this  is,  that,  in  the  opinion  of  the  author,  poetical  lines  should  not  be  read  by 
the  pupil,  without  special  instruction  to  avoid  that  '^  sing  sono-"  utterance,  into 
which  ne  is  too  apt  to  fall  in  readings  verse.  This  subject  is  reserved  for  the 
3(>lh  lesson,  where  it  is  fully  exemplihed.  It  remains  to  be  observed  here,  that 
abbreviations  and  contractions,  such  as  occur  in  the  poetical  sentences  in  this 
lesson  and  others,  which  appear  in  the  form  of  prose,  are  not  allowable  in 
prose  itself.  This  explanation  appears  to  be  necessary,  lest  the  authority  of 
this  book  should  be  quoted  by  the  pupil  for  the  use  of  abbreviations  in  prose. 


64  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

from  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe  ?  "  Tried  and  con- 
victed traitor"  —  Who  says  this?  Who'll  prove  it,  at  his 
peril,  on  my  head  ?  "  Banished  V  —  I  thank  you  for't.  It 
breaks  my  chain!  I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this 
hour  —  but  nov/  my  sword's  my  own. 

376.  Your  consul's  merciful.     For  this  all  thanks.     He 

dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline.     "  Traitor  !  "     I  go 

but  I  return.     This trial!     Here  I  devote  your  senate! 

I've  had  wrongs,  to  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age.  *  *  *  *  * 
This  day  is  the  birth  of  sorrows. 

377.  The  eye  could  at  once  command  a  long-stretching 
vista,  seemingly  closed  and  shut  up  at  both  extremities  by 
the  coalescing  cliffs. 

378.  It  seemed  like  Laocoon  struggling  ineffectually  in 
the  hideous  coils  of  the  monster  Python. 

379.  In  those  mournful  months,  v/hen  vegetables  and 
animals  are  alike  coerced  by  cold,  man  is  tributary  to  the 
howling  storm,  and  the  sullen  sky;  and  is,  in  the  pathetic 
phrase  of  Johnson,  a  "  slave  to  gloom." 

380.  I  would  call  upon  all  the  true  sons  of  humanity  to 
cooperate  with  the  laws  of  man  and  the  justice  of  Heaven  in 
abolishing  this  "  cursed  traffic." 

381.  Come,  faith,  and  people  these  deserts!  Come  and 
reanimate  these  regions  of  forgetfulness. 

382.  1  am  a  professed  lucubrator;  and  who  so  well  qual- 
ified to  delineate  the  sable  hours,  as 

"  A  meagre,  muse-rid  mope,  adust  and  thin  ! " 

383.  He  forsook,  therefore,,  the  bustling  tents  of  his 
father,  the  pleasant  "  south  country "  and  "  well  of  La- 
hairoi ; "  he  went  out  and  pensively  meditated  at  the  even- 
tide. 

384.  The  Grecian  and  Roman  philosophers  firmly  be- 
lieved that  "the  dead  of  midnight  is  the  noon  of  thought." 

385.  Young  observes,  with  energy,  that  **  an  undcvout 
astronomer  is  mad.^^ 

386.  Young  Blount  his  armor  did  unlace,  and,  gazing  on 
his  ghastly  face,  said  —  "By  Saint  George,  he's  gone!  that 
spear-wound  has  our  master  sped;  and  see  the  deep  cut 
on  his  head!  Good  night  to  Marmion  !  "  —  "Unnurtured 
Blount !  thy  brawling  cease  •  he  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace, 
"  peace!" — 


INTRODUCTORT   LESSONS.  65 

3S7.  The  first  sentence,  with  which  he  broke  the  awful 
silence,  was  a  quotation  from  Rousseau :  "  Socrates  died 
like  a  philosopher,  but  Jesus  Christ  like  a  God!" 

38S  A  celebrated  modern  writer  says,  "  Take  care  of 
the  minutes,  and  the  hours  will  take  care  of  themselves." 
This  is  an  admirable  remark,  and  might  be  very  seasonably 
recollected  when  we  begin  to  be  *'  weary  in  well  doing," 
from  the  thought  of  having  much  to  do. 

3S\).  I've  seen  the  moon  gild  the  mountain's*  brow;  I've 
watched  the  mist  o'er  the  river  stealing;  but  ne'er  did  I  feel 
in  my  breast,  till  now,  so  deep,  so  calm,  and  so  holy  a  feeling : 
'tis  soft  as  the  thrill  which  memory  throws  athwart  the  soul 
in  the  hour  of  repose. 

390.  Blest  be  the  day  I  'scaped  the  wrangling  crew  from 
Pyrrho's  *  maze  and  Epicurus'  *  sty  ;  and  held  high  converse 
with  the  godlike  few,  who  to  th'  enraptured  heart,  and  ear, 
and  eye,  teach  beauty,  virtue,  truth,  and  love,  and  melody. 

391.  But  thou,  who  Heaven's  *  just  vengeance  dar'st  defy, 
this  deed,  with  fruitless  tears,  shalt  soon  deplore. 

392.  O  Winter  !  ruler  of  the  inverted  year  !  thy  scatter'd 
hair  with  sleet-like  ashes  fill'd,  thy  breath  congeal'd  upon  thy 
lips,  thy  cheeks  fring'd  with  a  beard  made  white  with  other 
snows  than  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapt  in  clouds,  a 
leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  thy  throne  a  sliding  car,  in- 
debted to  no  wheels,  but  urg'd  by  storms  along  its  slipp'ry 
way,  I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st,  and  dreaded 
as  thou  art ! 

393.  For,  as  I  passed  by,  and  beheld  your  devotions,  I 
found  an  altar  with  this  inscription,  "  To  the  unknown 
God."  Whom  therefore  ye  ignorantly  worship,  him  declare 
I  unto  you. 


♦  The  apostrophe  in  these  words  is  the  sign  of  the  possessive  case. 
6"^ 


66  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 


LESSON    XXI. 

THE  ASTERISK,  OBELISK,  DOUBLE  OBE- 
LISK, SECTION,  PARALLELS,  PARAGRAPH, 
INDEX,  CARET,  BREVE,  AND  BRACE.* 

The  pupil  will  take  particular  notice  of  the  following 
marks,  so  that  he  may  call  them  hy  name,  and  explain  their 
use  in  the  following  lesson. 

This  mark       *  is  called  an  Asterisk,  or  Star. 

This  mark       f  is  called  an  Obelisk. 

This  mark       f  is  called  a  Double  Obelisk. 

This  mark      fl  is  called  a  Paragraph. 

This  mark       §  is  called  a  Section. 

These  marks  ||  are  called  Parallels. 

The  Asterisk,  Obelisk,  Double  Obelisk,  Paragraph,  Sec- 
tion, Parallel,  and  sometimes  figures,  or  letters,  are  used  to 
shoiv  that  there  is  a  note  at  the  bottom  of  the  page.  JVJien 
many  notes  occur  on  a  page,  these  marks  are  sometimes 
doubled.     [See  next  page.] 

The  Paragraph  ^  is  used  to  show  the  beginning  of  a  new 
subject. 

The  Section  '^  is  also  used  to  divide  chapters  into  less 
parts. 

The  Index  or  Hand  (][/*  points  to  something  which  r©- 
quires  particular  attention. 

The  Breve  ^-^  is  placed  over  a  letter  to  show  that  it  has  a 
short  sound;  as,  Helena. 

Hie  Brace  >  is  used  to  unite  several  lines  of  poetry,  or 
to  connect  a  number  of  words  with  one  common  term. 

The  Caret  A  is  never  used  in  printed  books  ;  but  in  wri- 
ting it  shows  that  something  has  accidentally  been  left  out ;  as, 

recited 

George  has  his  lesson. 

A 

*  The  teacher  will  find,  in  Parker  and  Fox's  Grammar,  Part  III,,  pag-o 
21st  to  35th,  a  complete  enumeration  of  all  the  marks  used  in  written  lang^uaj^e, 
with  rules,  observations,  and  practical  exercises  for  the  pupil  in  the  use  of  them, 
iuore  extensive  and  particular  than  he  will  probably  find  in  any  other  werk. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  67 

ffj'  When  several  asterisks  or  stars  are  placed  together,  they  repre- 
Bcnt  an  ellipsis.    [See  Lesson  19th.] 

EXAMPLES. 

394.  Many  persons  pronounce  the  word  Helena,*  incor 
rectly.  They  call  it  Helena ;  and  the  words  ac'ceptable,  rec- 
ognize, Epicure'an,  and  Europe'an,  are  frequently  incorrectly 
called  accep'table,  recog'nize,  Epicu'rean,  and  Euro'pean. 

395.  The  leprosy,  therefore,  of  Naaman  shall  cleave  unto 
thee.  *  ♦  *  ♦  And  he  went  out  from  his  presence  a  leper 
as  white  as  snow. 

396.  The  Cougar  t  is  the  largest  animal  of  the  cat  kind, 
found  in  North  America;  and  has  occasionally  received  the 
name  of  the  American  lion,  from  the  similarity  of  its  pro- 
portions and  color  to  those  of  the  lion  of  the  old  world. 

397.  The  keeper  of  the  elephant  gave  him  a  gallon  of 
arrack,  f  which  rendered  the  animal  very  furious. 

398.  I  fell  upon  my  knees  on  the  bank,  with  my  two 
servants,  and  the  drogoman§  of  the  monastery. 

399.  The  history  of  Joseph  is  exceedingly  interesting 
and  instructive.  II 

400.  It  was  a  cave,  a  huge  recess,  that  keeps,  till  June, 
December's  snow;  a  lofty  precipice  in  front,  a  silent 
tarn  ^  below. 

401.  C-e-o-u-s,    ^ 

c?   '•"  '  '     /  are  pronounced  like  shiis. 
b-c-i-o-u-s,  i  '^ 

T-i-o-u-s,     ) 

402.  See  where  the  rector's**  splendid  mansion  stands, 
embossed  deep  in  new  enclosed  lands,  —  lands  wrested  from 
the  indigent  and  poor,  because,  forsooth,  he  holds  the  village 
cure.tt 

403.  When  the  young  blood  danced  jocund  through  his 
veins,  'tis  said  his  sacred  stole  fj  received  some  stains. 

404.  Their  wants  are  promised  Bridewell,§<5  or  the  stocks. 

*  This  is  the  name  of  a  small  island  situated  on  the  west  of  Africa,  noted 
for  the  exile  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

t  Pronounced  Coo'-sar.  Tne  name  given  to  this  animal,  by  the  country 
people,  generally,  is  painter,  evidently  a  corruption  of  panther. 

X  Arrack  is  a  very  strong  spirituous  liquor. 

&  Drogoman  means  an  interpreter. 

II  The  whole  history  of  Joseph  will  be  foinid  in  the  Bible  j  from  the  37 Ji 
clinpter  to  l!ie  cud  of  the  book  of  Genesis. 

U    Ta  n  is  a  small  lake,  high  up  in  the  mountains. 

**  A  .  l.Tj;\  man.  ft  Cure,  —  The  office  of  a  clergyman. 

J*   l^l  ./,-, —  A  long  robe  worn  bv  the  clergy  of  England. 

^■}  B  iUcwcil,  —  A  house  of  correction. 


^8  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

LESSON    XXII. 

ACCENT. 

Accent  is  the  peculiar  tone  or  force  given  to  some  letter  or 
syllahle  of  a  word. 

There  are  three  accents ^  the  Acute,  the  Grave,  and  the 
Circumflex. 

Tlie  acute  accent  is  noted  hy  a  mark  like  this  '  placed  over 
a  letter  or  syllahle,  as  in  the  word  Epicurean. 

The  grave  accent  is  represented  hy  a  mark  like  this  ^ 
placed  over  a  letter  or  syllahle,  as  in  the  word  Clessammor. 

The  circumflex  accent  is  distinguished  hy  a  mark  like 
this  A  placed  over  a  letter  or  syllahle. 

The  letter  or  syllahle  over  which  either  of  the  accents  is 
placed,  is  to  he  pronounced  moreforcihly  than  the  other  parts 
of  the  same  word;  as,  rec'ognize,  Reuthamir,  Fingal. 

The  word  or  syllahle  over  which  the  acute  accent  is  placed, 
must  be  pronounced  with  the  rising  inflection  of  the  voice;  as, 
rec'ognize,  Epicure'an,  ac'ceptable. 

IVie  word  or  syllahle  over  which  the  grave  accent  is  placed 
must  he  pronounced  ivith  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice;  as, 
Reuthamir,  Clessammor. 

The  word  or  syllable  over  which  the  circumflex  accent  is 
placed,  must  he  pronounced  partly  loith  the  rising  and  partly 
with  the  falling  inflection  of  the  voice.  If  it  begin  with  the  ris' 
ing  and  end  with  the  fallings  it  is  called  the  falling  circumflex  ; 
but  if  it  begin  with  the  falling  and  end  with  the  rising,  it  is 
called  the  rising  circumflex. 

The  circumflex  accent  is  sometimes  used  to  express  the 
broad  sound  of  a  letter,  as  in  Fingal,  in  which  the  a  is 
jjronounced  as  in  the  word  fall. 

In  every  word  of  more  than  one  syllable,  there  is  one  {and 
sometimes  more  than  one)  tvhich  must  he  pronounced  more 
forcibly  than  the  others ;  and  the  acute  accent  is  often  used 
to  show  which  this  syllahle  is.  The  syllable  thus  pronounced 
is  called  the  accented  syllabic ;  as,  cap'illary,  red'olent,  ax'iom. 

The  acute,  grave,  and  circumflex  accents  are  sometimes 
used  to  direct  the  management  of  the  voice  in  reading  sen- 
tences ;  the  acute  accent  indicating  the  rising,  the  grave  the 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  69 

falling  injlection  of  the  voice,  and  the  circumflex  both  the 
rising  and  falling  united.  When  the  circumflex  is  used  to 
indicate  a  sound  commcncijig  with  the  rising  and  ending 
with  the  falling  inflection,  it  is  printed  thus,  ^  ;  but  when 
the  sound  commences  icith  the  falling  and  ends  toith  the 
rising  inflection,  it  is  printed  thus,  ^ ,  which  the  pupil  will 
perceive  is  the  same  mark  inverted. 

[The  pupil  may  now  read  the  following  sentences,  recol- 
lecting to  manage  his  voice,  when  he  meets  the  respective 
marks  of  accent,  as  directed  above.] 

405.  Did  they  recite  correctly,  or  incorrectly  1 

406.  They  recited  correctly,  not  incorrectly. 

407.  Did  they  speak  properly,  or  improperly  ? 

408.  They  spoke  properly,  not  improperly. 

409.  Did  Charles  go  willingly,  or  unwillingly? 

410.  Charles  went  willingly,  not  unwillingly. 

411.  Did  you  say  Epicurean,  or  Epicurean? 

412.  I  said  Epicurean,  not  Epicurean.  I  know  better 
than  to  say  so. 

413.  You  must  not  say  accep'table,  but  ac'ceptable. 

414.  You  must  not  pronounce  that  word  recognize,  but 
recognize. 

415.  We  must  act  according  to  the  law,  not  contrary  to  it. 

416.  Did  he  say  wisdom,  or  wisdom? 

417.  He  said  wisdom,  not  wisdom. 

418.  What  must  the  King  do  now?     Must  he  submit? 
The  King  shall  do  it:  must  he  be  deposed? 
The  King  shall  be  contented  :  must  he  lose 
The  name  of  King? — let  it  go  ! 

419.  I'll  give  my  jewels,  for  a  set  of  beads  ; 
My  gorgeous  palace,  for  a  hermitage; 
My  gay  apparel,  for  an  almsman's  gown; 
My  figured  goblets,  for  a  dish  of  wood ; 
My  sceptre,  for  a  painter's  walking  staff; 
My  subjects,  for  a  pair  of  carved  saints : 
And  my  large  kingdom,  for  a  little  grave; 
A  little,  little  grave  —  an  obscure  grave. 

420.  Art  thou  poor?  Show  thyself  active  and  indus- 
trious, peaceable  and  contented:  Art  thou  wealthy?  Show 
thyself  beneficent  and  charitable,  condescending  and  hu- 
mane. 


70  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

421.  This  corruptible  must  put  on  incorruption,  and  this 
mortal  must  put  on  immortality. 

422.  Religion  raises  men  above  themselves;  irreligion 
sinks  them  beneath  the  brutes. 

423.  And  if  you  do,  you  will  but  make  it  blush,  and  glow 
with  shame  of  your  proceedings,  Hubert. 

424.  Hamlet,  you  have  your  father  much  offended. 

425.  Madam,  you  have  my  father  much  offended. 

426.  If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so. 

427.  No,  say  you  ;  did  he  say  No  ?     He  did  ;  he  said  No. 

428.  Is  the  goodness,  or  the  wisdom  of  the  divine  Being 
more  manifest  in  this  his  proceeding? 

429.  Shall  we  in  your  person  crown  the  author  of  the 
public  calamities,  or  shall  we  destroy  him? 

430.  From  whence  can  he  produce  such  cogent  exhorta- 
tions to  the  practice  of  every  virtue,  such  ardent  excitement 
to  piety  and  devotion,  and  such  assistance  to  attain'  them,  as 
those  which  are  to  be  met  with  throughout  every  page  of 
these  inimitable  writings'? 

431.  Where,  amidst  the  dark  clouds  of  Pagan  philosophy, 
can  he  show  us  such  a  clear  prospect  of  a  future  state,  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  and 
the  general  judgment,  as  in  St.  Paul's  first  epistle  to  the 
Corinthians? 

432.  Would  it  not  employ  a  beau  prettily  enough,  if,  in- 
stead of  eternally  playing  with  his  snuff-box,  he  spent  some 
time  in  making  one? 

433.  Would  an  infinitely  wise  Being  make  such  glorious 
beings  for  so  mean  a  purpose?  Can  he  delight  in  the  pro- 
duction of  such  abortive  intelligences,  such  short-lived  rea- 
sonable beings  ?  Would  he  give  us  talents  that  are  not  to  be 
exerted,  capacities  that  are  not  to  be  gratified? 

434.  Whither  shall  I  tiirn  ?  Wretch  that  I  am !  to  what 
place  shall  I  betake  myself?  Shall  I  go  to  the  capitol? 
Alas  1  it  is  overflowed  with  my  brother's  blood  !  Or  shall  I 
retire  to  my  house?  Yet  there  I  behold  my  mother  plunged 
in  misery,  weeping  and  despairing ! 

435.  King  Agrippa,  believest  thou  the  prophets?  I  know 
that  thou  believest. 

436.  Art  thou  he  that  should  come,  or  shall  we  look  for 
another? 

437.  The  baptism  of  John,  was  it  from  heaven,  —  or  of 
men? 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  71 

438.  Will  you  go,  —  or  stay  ?  Will  you  ride,  —  or  walk  7 
Will  you  go  to-day,  —  or  to-morrow? 

4:39.  Did  you  see  him,  —  or  his  brother?  Did  he  travel 
for  health,  —  or  pleasure? 

440.  Did  he  resemble  his  father,  —  or  his  mother?  Is 
this  book  yours,  —  or  mine? 

441.  Was  it  ar'med,  say  you?  'Armed,  my  lord.  From 
top  to  toe  ?     My  lord,  from  head  to  foot. 

442.  Then  saw  you  not  his  face?  Oh  yes,  my  lord,  he 
wore  his  beaver  up. 

443.  I  did  not  say  a  better  soldier,  but  an  elder. 

444.  Aim  not  to  show  knowledge,  but  to  acquire  it. 

445.  Did  I  say  go,  —  or  go  ? 

446.  Hence !  —  home,  you  idle  creatures,  get  you  home. 
You  blocks,  you  stones !  you  worse  than  senseless  things ! 

447.  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan.  No.  You  did  not 
read  that  right.  You  should  say,  Get  thee  behind  me, 
Satan. 

448.  'Angels  and  ministers  of  grace,  defend  us. 

449.  Jesus,  Master  !  have  mercy  ofi  us.* 

450.  Charity  suffereth  long,  and  is  kind ;  charity  envieth 
not;  charity  vaunteth  not  itself;  is  not  puffed  up;  doth  not 
behave  itself  unseemly ;  seeketh  not  her  own ;  is  not  easily 
provoked  ;  thinketh  no  evil. 

451.  And  though  I  have  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  un- 
derstand all  mysteries,  and  all  knowledge ;  and  though  I 
have  all  faith,  so  that  I  could  remove  mountains,  and  have 
not  charity,  I  am  nothing. 

452.  I  tell  you,  though  you,  though  all  the  world,  though 
an  angel  from  heaven,  should  declare  the  truth  of  it,  I  could 
not  believe  it. 

453.  I  tell  you,  though  you,  though  all  the  world,  though 
an  angel  from  heaven,  should  declare  the  truth  of  it,  I  could 
not  believe  it. 

454.  You  wrong  me  every  way,  you  wrong  me,  Brutus. 

455.  You  wrong  me  every  way,  you  wrong  me,  Brutus. 
[  The  pupil  may  say  which  is  the  correct  way  of  reading  these 
two  sentences.] 

*  This  impassioned  expression  of  the  ten  lepers  to  our  Savior  is  most  fre- 
quently read  from  the  sacred  desk  with  the  acute  accent.  The  author  thinks 
tnat  due  reflection  will  convince  every  one  that  it  thereby  loses  a  great  portion 
of  its  force  and  feeling'.  The  grave  accent  is  on  many,  perhaps  on  all  occn- 
sions,  expressive  of  a  tone  of  much  deeper  emotion  than  that  indicated  by  the 
acute  accent ;  a  remark  which  this  sentence  will  clearly  prove.  See  also 
Numbers  432  and  453,  and  especially  Number  657,  page  ios. 


72  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

456.  Are  you  going  to  Boston  ?  What  did  you  ask  me  ? 
Are  you  going  to  Boston  ?  ^ 

457.  They  tell  us  to  be  moderate ;  but  they,  they  are  to 
revel  in  profusion. 

458.  I  see  thou  hast  learned  to  rail. 

459.  I  know  that  thou  art  a  scoundrel. 

460.  Sach  trifling  would  not  be  admitted  in  the  inter 
course  of  men,  and  do  you  think  it  will  avail  more  with 
Almighty  God  ? 

461.  Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he  should  do  this  great 
thing  ? 

462.  Talk  to  me  of  dangers  ?  Death  and  shame  !  Is  not 
my  race  as  high,  as  ancient,  and  as  proud  as  thine  ? 

[Let  the  pupil  tell  in  which  of  the  fmir  ways  the  following 
sentence  should  be  read.] 

463.  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man  with  a  kiss  ? 

464.  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man  with  a  kiss  ? 

465.  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man  with  a  kiss  ? 

466.  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man  with  a  kiss  ? 

467.  Lo  !  —  have  I  wandered  o'er  the  hills  for  this  ? 

468.  That  lulled  them,  as  the  north  wind  does  the  sea. 

469.  For  we  trust  we  have  a  good  conscience. 

470.  Trust  I     Triist  we  have  a  good  conscience  ! 

471.  Certainly,  Trim,  quoth  my  father,  interrupting  him, 
you  give  that  sentence  a  very  improper  accent ;  for  you  curl 
up  your  nose,  man,  and  read  it  with  such  a  sneering  tone, 
as  if  the  parson  was  going  to  abuse  the  apostle. 

472.  For  we  trust  we  have  a  good  conscience. 

473.  Trust !     Trust  we  have  a  good  conscience  ! 

474.  Surely,  if  there  is  anything  in  this  life  which  a  man 
may  depend  upon,  and  to  the  knowledge  of  which  he  is  capa- 
ble of  arriving  upon  the  most  indisputable  evidence,  it  must 
be  this  very  thing,  —  whether  he  has  a  good  conscience 
or  no. 

*  In  all  Questions  which  can  be  answered  by  yes  or  no,  (as  has  been  already 
stated,  under  Lesson  6th,)  rising  inflection  oi  tne  voice  is  used.  But  it  niaj^ 
here  be  remarked,  that  when  the  question  is  repeated,  the  repetition  is  gen- 
erally accompanied  by  the  falling  inflection.  But  the  reason  of  this  is.  thai 
on  the  repetition  of  the  question  it  becomes  rather  a  declaration  than  a  ques- 
tion. Thus,  in  the  question  in  No.  456,  if  the  person  addressed,  by  reason 
of  distance  or  deafness,  does  not  hear  distinctly,  and  says,  What  did  you 
ask  me  ?  the  reply  would  naturally  be,  /  asked  you,  Are  you  going  to 
Boston. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  73 

475.  I  am  positive  I  am  right,  quoth  Dr.  Slop. 

476.  If  a  man  thinks  at  all,  he  cannot  well  be  a  stranger 
to  the  true  state  of  this  account;  —  he  must  be  privy  to  his 
own  thoughts  and  desires  —  he  must  remember  his  past  pur- 
suits, and  know  certainly  the  true  springs  and  motives  which 
in  general  have  governed  the  actions-of  his  life.  I  defy  him, 
without  an  assistant,  quoth  Dr.  Slop. 

477.  In  other  matters  we  may  be  deceived  by  false  appeaj- 
ances;  but  here  the  mind  has  all  the  evidence  and  facts 
within  herself. 


LESSON    XXIII. 

EMPHASIS. 

By  Emphasis  is  meant  the  force  or  loudness  of  voice  hy 
which  we  distinguish  the  principal  word  or  words  in  a  sen- 
tence. 

To  emphasize  a  wordy  means  to  pronounce  it  in  a  loud  or 
forcible  manner. 

The  meaning  of  a  sentence,  especially  if  it  be  a  question, 
often  depends  upon  the  proper  placing  of  the  emphasis. 
Thus :  in  the  sentence,  Shall  you  ride  to  town  to-day  ?  if 
the  emphasis  be  placed  upon  ride,  the  question  will  be, 
Shall  you  RIDE  to  town  to-day?  —  and  it  may  be  answered, 
No,  I  shall  not  ride,  I  shall  walk.  If  the  emphasis  be 
placed  upon  you,  the  question  then  becomes,  Shall  YOU 
ride  lo  town  to-day  ?  and  the  answer  may  be.  No,  I  shall 
not  go  myself,  I  shall  send  my  son.  If  the  emphasis  be 
placed  on  town,  the  question  then  becomes,  Shall  yo»i  ride 
to  TOWN  to-day?  and  the  answer  may  be,  No,  I  shall  not 
ride  to  town,  but  I  shall  ride  into  the  country.  If  the 
emphasis  be  placed  upon  day,  the  question  then  becomes, 
Shall  you  ride  to  town  TO-DAY?  and  the  answer  may  be, 
No,  I  shall  not  go  to-day,  but  I  shall  to-morrow. 

In  reading  the  following  sentences,  the  pupil  will  em- 
phasize the  words  in  capital  letters. 

478.  You  were  paid  to  FIGHT  against  Alexander,  not  to 
RAIL  at  him. 

7 


74 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


479.  And  Saul  said  unto  Michal,  Why  hast  thou  DE- 
CEIVED me  so? 

480.  Then  said  the  High  Priest,  Are  these  things  SO? 

481.  Exercise  and  temperance  strengthen  even  an  IN- 
DIFFERENT constitution. 

482.  AGAIN  to  the  battle,  Achaians. 

483.  I  that  denied  thee  GOLD,  will  give  my  HEART. 

484.  You  wronged  YOURSELF  to  write  in  such  a 
case. 

485.  The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  STARS ;  but 
in  OURSELVES,  that  we  are  underlings. 

486.  And  why  beholdest  thou  the  mote  that  is  in  thy 
brother's  eye,  but  considerest  not  the  BEAM  that  is  in  thine 
OWN  eye? 

487.  And  Nathan  said  unto  David,  THOU  art  the  man. 

488.  A  day,  an  HOUR  of  virtuous  liberty,  is  worth  a 
whole  eternity  of  bondage. 

489.  I'm  tortured  even  to  madness  when  I  THINK  of 
the  proud  victor. 

490.  'Tis  all  a  libel,  PAXTON,  sir,  will  say  :  — 
Not  yet,  my  friend!  TO-MORROW,  faith,  it  may; 
And  for  that  very  cause  I  print  TO-DAY. 

491.  The  men  whom  nature's  works  can  charm,  with 
GOD  HIMSELF  hold  converse;  grow  familiar  day  by  day 
with  his  conceptions,  ACT  upon  his  plan,  and  form  to  HIS 
the  relish  of  their  souls. 

492.  It  is  equally  unjust  in  thee  to  put  DAMON  or  ME 
to  death  :  but  PYTHIAS  were  unjust,  did  he  let  Damon 
suffer  a  death  that  the  tyrant  prepared  only  for  PYTHIAS. 

493.  What!  does  life  DISPLEASE  thee? 

Yes ;  it  displeases  me  when  I  see  a  TYRANT. 

494.  BETRAYEST  thou  the  Son  of  man  with  a  kiss? 

495.  Betrayest  THOU  the  Son  of  man  with  a  kiss  ? 

496.  Betrayest  thou  the  SON  of  man  with  a  kiss  ? 

497.  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  MAN  with  a  kiss? 

498.  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  man  with  a  KISS? 

499.  The  firmest  works  of  MAN,  too,  are  gradually 
giving  way. 

500.  And  THOU  must  sail  upon  this  sea,  a  long  event- 
ful voyage.  The  wise  MAY  suffer  wreck  —  the  foolish 
MUST. 

501.  My  ear  is  PAINED,  my  soul  is  SICK,  with  every 
day's  report   of  wrong    and  outrage,  with    which  earth  ia 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  75 

FILLED.     There  is  no  FLESH  in  man's  obdurate  heart,  — 
it  does  not  FEEL  for  man. 

502.    Slaves   cannot    BREATHE    in   England;    if  their 
lungs  receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  FREE. 


LESSON    XXIV. 

PRIMARY    AND    SECONDARY    EMPHASIS  * 

In  sentences  where  several  words  are  to  he  emphasized^  some 
words  receive  a  stronger  emphasis  than  others.  This  leads  to 
a  distinction,  called  primary  and  secondary  emphasis.  The 
primary  emphasis  is  the  stronger  emphasis.  The  secondary 
emphasis  is  the  weaker  emphasis;  ofiohich,  there  are  several 
degrees. 

In  the  follotoing  sentences,  the  words  in  LARGE  CAPI- 
TALS are  to  receive  the  primary  emphasis.  Those  in  small 
CAPITALS  are  to  receive  the  secondary  emphasis,  and  those  in 
Italic  an  emphasis  of  less  force  than  those  in  small  capitals. 

503.  What  STRONGER  breastplate  than  a  heart  untainted! 
THRICE  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just  :  and  he 
but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  STEEL,  whose  conscience 
with  INJUSTICE  is  corrupted. 

504.  But  winter  has  yet  brighter  scenes;  —  he  boasts 
splendors  beyond  what  gorgeous  summer  knows,  —  or  au- 
tumn with  her  many  fruits  and  woods,  all  flushed  with 
many  hues. 

505.  Boisterous  in  speech,  in  action  prompt  and  hold. 
He  buys,  he  sells,  —  he  steals,  he  KILLS  for  gold. 

506.  The  combat  deepens.  ON,  ye  brave,  who  rush  to 
glory  or  the  grave  !  Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave, 
and  CHARGE  with  all  thy  chivalry. 

507.  Oh,  fear  not  thou  to  die  !     But  rather  fear  to  LIVE ; 

*  Although  emphasis  g-cnerally  requires  a  degree  of  loudness  in  the  voice, 
yet  it  is  frequently  the  case  thatstrondy  emphatic  words  should  be  uttered  with 
a  deiper  rather  than  a  louder  tone  of  voice.  This  remark  can  be  exemplified 
better  by  the  living  teacher  than  by  examples  addressed  to  the  eye. 


76 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 


for  life  has  thousand  snares  thy  feet  to  try,  by  peril,  pain, 
and  strife. 

608.  Yea,  long  as  Nature's  humblest  child  hath  kept  her 
temple  undefiled  by  sinful  sacrifice.  Earth's  fairest  scenes  are 
all  HIS  OWN  :  he  is  a  MONARCH,  and  his  throne  is  built 
amid  the  skies. 

509.  Misses!  the  tale  that  I  relate  this  lesson  seems 
to  carry  —  Choose  not  alone  a  proper  mate,  but  proper 
TIME  to  marry. 

510.  Son  of  night,  RETIRE;  call  thy  winds  and  fly: 
Why  dost  thou  come  to  my  presence  with  thy  shadowy 
arms?  Do  I  FEAR  thy  gloomy  form,  dismal  spirit  of 
Loda!  Weak  is  thy  shield  of  clouds;  feeble  is  that 
meteor,  thy  sword. 

511.  My  dwelling  is  calm,  above  the  clouds;  the  fields 
of  my  rest  are  pleasant. 

DWELL  then  in  thy  calm  Jield,  and  let  ComhaVs  son  be 
forgot.  Do  mij  steps  ascend,  from  my  hills  into  thy  peace- 
ful plains?  Do  /meet  thee,  with  a  spear,  in  thy  cloud,  spirit 
of  dismal  Loda  ?  Why,  then,  dost  ihow  frown  on  Fingal  ?  — 
or  shake  thine  airy  spear  1  But  thou  frownest  in  vain  ;  I 
never  fled  from  mighty  men.  And  shall  the  sons  of  the 
WIND  frighten  the  King  of  Morven?  NO;  he  knows  the 
weakness  of  their  arms. 

512.  Yonder  schoolboy,  who  plays  the  truant,  says,  the 
proclamation  of  peace  was  NOTHING  to  the  show;  and 
even  the  chairing  of  the  members  at  election,  would  not 
have  been  a  finer  sight  than  this  ;  only  that  red  and  green 
are  prettier  colors  than  ail  this  mourning. 

513.  The  text  is  gospel  wisdom.  I  would  ride  the 
camel,  —  yea,  LEAP  him  FLYING,  through  the  needle's 
eye,  as  easily  as  such  a  pampered  soul  could  pass  the 
narrow  gate. 

514.  Why  judge  you  then  so  hardly  of  the  dead  ?  For 
what  he  left  UNDONE:  —  for  sins,  not  one  of  which  is 
mentioned  in  the  ten  commandments. 

515.  Though  you  may  think  of  a  million  strokes  in  a 
minute,  you  are  required  to  execute  but  one. 

516.  Not  thirty  tyrants  now  enforce  the  chain,  but 
every  CARLE  can  lord  it  o'er  thy  land. 

517.  HEREDITARY  bonomen!  Know  ye  w<  —  who 
would  be  free,  THEMSELVES  must  strike  the  blow?  By 
THEIR  n^A^  arm  the  conquest  must  be  wrought :  —  Will 
Gaul  or  Muscovite  redress  ye?  —  NO!     True,  they  may 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  77 

lay  your  proud  despoilers  low :  but  not  for  YOU  will  free- 
dom's altars  flame. 

518.  A  THOUSAND  YEARS  scarce  serve  to  form  a  state  ; 
an  HOUR  may  lay  it  in  the  dust. 

519.  He  prayed  but  for  life -^  for  life  he  would  give  all 
he  had  in  the  world ;  —  it  was  but  LIFE  he  asked  — LIFE, 
if  it  were  to  be  prolonged  under  tortures  and  privations ;  — 
he  asked  only  breath,  though  it  should  be  drawn  in  the 
damps  of  the  lowest  caverns  of  their  hills. 

520.  I  could  have  bid  you  LIVE,  had  life  been  to  you  the 
same  weary  and  wasting  burden  that  it  is  to  me. 

521.  Be  the  combat  our  OWN  !  and  we'll  perish  or  con- 
quer MORE  PROUDLY  alone  ;  for  we  have  sworn  by  our 
country's  assaulters,  that  living  we  WILL  be  victorious,  or 
that  dying  our  deaths  shall  be  GLORIOUS. 

522.  Earth  may  hide  —  waves  ingulf — FIRE  consume 
us,  but  they  SHALL  not  to  slavery  doom  us. 

523.  If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves: 
but  we  have  smitten  them  already  with  Jire  on  the 
waves,  and  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us.  To  the 
CHARGE!  —  Heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 

524.  False  Wizard,  AVAUNT  !  I  have  marshalled 
ray  clan :  their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  bosoms  are 
one. 

525.  What  means  this  shouting  ?  I  do  fear  the  people 
choose  Caesar  for  their  King. 

Ay,  do  you  FEAR  it  ?  Then  must  I  think  you  would  not 
HAVE  it  so. 

526.  I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke;  but 
here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  KNOW. 

527.  But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Caesar  might  have 
stood  against  the  WORLD.  Now  lies  he  thercy  and  none  so 
poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

528.  He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me ;  but 
Brutus  says  he  was  AMBITIOUS  ;=^  and  Brutus  is  an  hon- 
orable   man.     He    hath    brought   many  captives   home   to 

♦As  this  reading  is  new  and  original,  it  may,  perhaps,  require  some  de- 
fence. In  the  first  assertion,  the  emphasis  is  thrown  on  the  word  ambitious 
because  that  is  the  objection  made  by  Brutus  against  Caesar.  The  cunning 
Antony  then  lirings  forward  circumstances  to  prove  that  Csesar  was  7wt 
ambitious  ;  and  then  asserts  that  Bnitus  says  he  was  ambitious,  notwith- 
standing these  arguments  in  Caesar's  defence.  Antony  then  proceeds  to  pro- 
duce furtlier  proof  to  the  contrary  ;  and  having  brought  what  he  supposes  an 
incontrovertible  argument  in  proof  of  the  injustice  of  the  charge,  he  then 
states  the  charge  as  resting  merely  on  the  bare  assertion  of  Brutus.  Brutus 
says  so  still. 

7* 


78  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

Rome,  whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill :  Did  this 
in  Csesar  seem  ambitious  ?  When  that  the  poor  have  cried, 
Caesar  hath  wept.  Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner 
stuff.  Yet  Brutus  says  he  WAS  ambitious ;  and  Brutus  is 
an  honorable  man.  You  all  did  see,  that  on  the  Lupercal  I 
thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown  ;  which  he  did  thrice 
REFUSE.  Was  THIS  AMBITION  ?  Yet  Brutus  SAYS  he  was 
ambitious  ;  and  sure  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

529.  O  masters  !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir  your  hearts  and 
minds  to  mutiny  and  rage,  I  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and 
Cassius  wrong,  who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men.  I  will 
not  do  THEM  wrong,  —  I  rather  choose  to  wrong  the  dead  — 
to  wrong  myself  and  you,  —  than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable 
men. 

530.  But  here  's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Cjesar  ;  1 
found  it  in  his  closet :  't  is  his  will.  Let  but  the  commons 
HEAR  this  testament,  (which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to 
r'ead^  and  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds,  and 
dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood,  —  yea,  beg  a  hair  of 
him  for  memory,  and,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  vMls^ 
bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  LEGACY  unto  their  issue. 

53L  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now.  You 
all  do  know  this  mantle  :  I  remember  the  first  time  ever 
Csesar  put  it  on  :  ('twas  on  a  summer's  evening  in  his  tent : 
that  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii :)  — LOOK!  In  this  place 
ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  :  see  what  a  rent  the  envious 
Casca  made.  Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus 
stabbed  ;  and,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away,  mark  how 
the  blood  of  Csdssir  followed  it !  This  was  the  most  unkindest 
cut  of  all !  for,  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  HIM  stab,  IN- 
GRATITUDE, more  strong  than  traitors'  arms,  quite  van- 
quished him  !  Then  burst  his  mighty  heart :  and,  in  his 
mantle  muffling  up  his  face,  even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's 
statue,  which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Cjesar  fell.  O 
what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  !  Then  7,  and  you, 
and  all  of  us,  fell  down  ;  whilst  'bloody  TREASON  flour- 
ished  over  us. 

532.  0,  now  you  iveep  ;  and  I  perceive  you  feel  the  dint 
of  pity:  —  these  are  gracious  drops.  Kind  souls!  What, 
weep  you  when  you  but  behold  our  Caesar's  vesture  wound- 
ed ?  Look  ye  here  !  Here  is  HIMSELF  —  marred,  as  you 
see,  by  traitors. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  79 

LESSON   XXV. 

DISTINCTNESS    OF    ARTICULATION. 

In  order  to  exercise  the  voice,  and  acquire  distinctness  of  articula- 
tion, the  pupil  is  required,  in  this  lesson,  to  pronounce  (as  well  as  he 
can)  certain  letters,  which  do  not  constitute  a  word,  and  then  tlie 
words  in  which  the  same  letters  occur.  It  is  not  designed  that  he 
should  call  the  letters  by  name,  but  endeavor  to  pronounce  the  sound 
which  they  represent  when  united.* 

Sound  the  folloioing  letters,  and  then  the  words  which  foU 
low,  in  which  the  same  letters  occur.  Be  particularly  care- 
ful to  give  a  clear  and  distinct  sound  to  every  letter. 

Aw.  Law,  saw,  draw. 

Or.  For,  nor. 

Bd.  Orbed,  probed. 

Bdst.  Robb'dst,  prob'dst. 

Bl.  Able,  table,  cable,  abominable. 

Bid.  Troubl'd,  humbrd,  tumbl'd. 

Bldst.  Troubl'dst,  crumbl'dst,  tunibl'dst. 

Biz.  Troubles,  crumbles,  tumbles. 

Blst.  Troubl'st,  cruinbl'st,  tumbl'st. 

Br.  Brand,  strand,  grand. 

Bs.  Ribs,  cribs,  fibs,  nibs. 

*  This  lesson  is  deemed  by  the  author  one  of  the  most  importanl  in  the 
book,  and  indispensably  necessary  to  be  carefully  practised  and  often  repealed, 
in  order  to  acquire  distinctness  of  articulation.  There  are  some  letters  and 
syllables,  which  are  very  frequently  lost  by  a  vicious  pronunciation.  A  native 
Boslonian  seldom  pronounces  tlie  final  g  in  the  syllable  iug.  The  letters 
d,  I,  r,  t,  and  the  syllable  ed,  frequently  share  the  fate  of  the  ing,  not  only 
among  Rostonians,  but  also  among'  the  generalit}-  of  readers  and  speakers. 
The  syllable  er  is  almost  universally  mispronounced,  as  if  it  were  nr.  In  the 
words  merry,  and  perish,  few,  if  any,  mistake  the  proper  sound  of  the  letters 
er;  but  in  the  words  vwrcy  and  tnervuiid,  there  are  few  who  give  the  proper 
sound  of  these  letters.  The  letters  aw  also  are  frequently  mispronounced  like  or. 
In  order  that  this  lesson  may  be  understood  by  those  teachers,  who  are  not 
familiar  with  the  mode  in  which  the  sounds  of  the  letters  are  taught  in  the 
Boston  schools,  the  author  deems  it  necessary  to  give  the  following  explanation. 
Where  two  vowels,  or  a  vowel  and  a  consonant,  occur  together,  no  difficulty 
will  occur  in  pronouncing  the  sounds  of  the  letters  ;  but  when  several  conso- 
nants occur  together  without  a  vowel,  as  in  the  fourth  line  of  this  lesson,  where 
Bdst  occur  together,  it  must  be  understood  that  each  of  these  letters  staiids 
for  a  certain  sound,  although  that  sound  oe  not  a  clear,  articulate  one ;  and 
the  soiuids  of  each  of  these  letters  must  be  given  together,  as  one  syllable, 
before  the  words  robb'sl  and  prob'st,  in  which  they  occur,  are  read,  fty  such 
an  exercise  the  voice  will  be  improved,  and  ease  acquired  in  the  prontinciation 
of  words  in  which  letters  of  difficult  combination  occur. 


so  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

CM,  Fetch'd. 

Dl.  Candle,  handle,  bridle,  saddle. 

Did.  Handl'd,  bridl'd,  saddl'd. 

Dh.  Candles,  handles,  bridles,  saddles. 

Dlst.  Fondl'st,  handl'st,  bridl'st. 

Dr.  Drove,  draw,  drink,  drive. 

Dz.  Deeds,  reeds,  feeds,  seeds. 

Dth.  Breadth,  width. 

Dths.  Breadths,  widths. 

/v.  Flame,  fling,  flounce,  fly,  flew. 

Fid.  Trifl'd,  stifl'd,  rifl'd. 

Fist.  Trifl'st,  stifl'st,  rifl'st. 

Flz.  Trifles,  rifles,  stifles,  ruffles. 

Fr.  Frame,  France,  frown,  front. 

Fs.  Laughs,  quaffs,  staffs,  ruffs,  muffs. 

Fst.  Laugh'st,  quaff''st. 

Ft.  Waft,  raft,  graft. 

Fts.  Wafts,  grafts,  rafts. 

Fist.  Waft'st,  graft'st. 

Gd.  Bragg'd,  begg'd,  pegg'd. 

Gdst.  Bragg'dst,  begg'dst,  pegg'dst. 

Gl.  Glow,  glance,  glide,  gluck,  glad. 

Gld.  Haggl'd,  struggl'd,  mangl'd,  strangl'd. 

Gldst.  Haggl'dst,  struggl'dst,  mangl'dst,  strangl'dst. 

Glz.  Mangles,  strangles,  struggles. 

Gist.  Mangl'st,  strangl'st,  struggl'st. 

Gr.  Grave,  grand,  grow,  grind,  ground. 

Gz.  Pigs,  figs,  begs,  pegs,  cags,  nags. 

Gst.  Bragg'st,  begg'st. 

Jd.  Hedged,  fledged,  wedged,  caged. 

Kl.  Uncle,  carbuncle,  ankle,  crankle,  rinkle 

Kid.  Rankl'd,  tinkl'd,  knuckl'd,  truckl'd. 

Klz.  Truckles,  ankles,  rinkles,  uncles. 

Klst.  Truckl'st,  rinkl'st,  buckl'st. 

Kldst.  Truckl'dst,  rinkl'dst,  buckl'dst. 

Kn.  Blacken,  broken,  spoken. 

Knd.  Blacke]|'d,  reckon'd,  beckon'd. 

Knz.  Blackens,  reckons,  beckons. 

Knst.  Black'nst,  reck'nst,  beck'nst. 

Kndst.  Black'ndst,  reck'ndst,  beck'ndst. 

Kr.  Crony,  crumble,  crank,  crankle. 

Ks.  Thinks,  brinks,  sinks,  thanks. 

Kst.  Think'st,  sink'st,  thank'st. 

Ct.  Sack'd,  thwack'd,  crack'd,  smack'd. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  81 


Lh.  Elb,  bulb. 

Lbd.  Bulb'd. 

Lbz.  Elbs,  bulbs. 

LcL  Hold,  told,  fold,  scold,  roll'd. 

Ldz.  Holds,  folds,  scolds 

Ldst.  Hold'st,  fold'st,  rolld'st,  scold'st 

Lf.  Elf,  self,  shelf. 

Lfs.  Elfs. 

Lft.  Delft. 

Lj.  Bulge,  bilge. 

Lk.  Milk,  silk,  elk. 

Lkt.  •  Milk'd. 

Lks,  Milks,  silks,  elks. 

Lkts.  Mulcts. 

Lm.  Elm,  whelm,  film. 

Lmd.  Whelm'd,  film'd. 

Lmz.  Whelms,  films. 

Ln.  Fall'n,  stol'n,  svvoll'n. 

Lp.  Help,  scalp,  whelp. 

Lps.  Helps,  scalps,  whelps. 

Lpst.  Help'st,  scalp'st. 

Ls.  False,  pulse. 

Lst.  Fall'st,  call'st,  dwell'st. 

Lt.  Felt,  halt,  salt,  malt,  colt,  dolt. 

Lts.  Halts,  colts,  dolts,  faults. 

Lv.  Shelve,  delve,  helve. 

Lvd.  Shelv'd,  delv'd. 

Lvz.  Elves,  shelves,  delves. 

Lz.  Balls,  stalls,  halls,  falls,  shells. 

Lsh.  Filch,  milch. 

Lsht.  Filched. 

Lth.  Health,  wealth,  stealth. 

Lths.  Healths,  wealths,  stealths. 

Md.  Entomb'd,  doom'd,  room'd. 

Mf.  Humphrey. 

Mt.  Attempt. 

Mts.  Attempts. 

Mz.  Tombs,  catacombs,  combs. 

Mst.  Entomb'st,  comb'st. 

Nd.  And,  brand,  sand,  hand,  land. 

Ndz.  Bands,  sands,  hands,  lands. 

Ndst.  Send'st,  defend'st,  lend'st,  brand'ft 

Nj.  Range,  strange,  mange,  grange. 

Njd.  Ranged,  flanged. 


82 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


Nk.  Rank,  think,  crank,  prank,  sank. 

Nks.  Ranks,  thinks,  cranks,  pranks. 

JVkst.  Rank'st,  thank'st,  think'st,  sank'st. 

Nt.  Sent,  rent,  went,  bent,  lent,  trent. 

Ntst.  Want'st,  went'st,  sent'st,  lent'st. 

Nts.  Wants,  rents,  scents. 

Nz.  Fins,  bans,  scans,  mans,  fans. 

Nsh.  Flinch,  linch,  pinch,  bench. 

Nsht.  Flinch'd,  pinch'd,  bench'd,  drench'd. 

Nst.  Winced. 

Ngd.  Hanged,  banged,  prolonged. 

Ngz.  Songs,  tongs,  prolongs. 

Ngth.  Length,  strength. 

PL  Pluck,  ply,  plain,  plume. 

Pld.  Rippled,  tippled. 

Plz.  Ripples,  tipples,  apples. 

Plst.  Ripplest,  tipplest. 

Pr.  Pray,  prance,  prince,  prime,  prayer 

Ps.  Claps,  raps,  sips,  nips,  dips. 

Pst.  Rapp'st,  sipp'st,  nipp'st,  dipp'st. 

Rb.  Herb,  barb,  disturb. 

Rbd.  Barb'd. 

Rbs.  Herbs,  barbs. 

Rbst.  Barb'st,  disturbsta. 

Rbdst.  Barb'dst. 

Rd.  Bard,  word,  hard,  lard,  heard. 

Rds.  Bards,  words,  interlards. 

Rdst.  Heard'st,  fear'dst,  appear'dst. 

Rf.  Surf,  scurf,  scarf,  wharf. 

Rft.  Wharf 'd,  scarf'd,  scurf'd. 

Rg.  Burgh. 

Rgz.  Burghs. 

Rj.  Barge,  large,  dirge,  charge. 

Rjd.  Urged,  enlarged,  charged. 

Rk.  Hark,  lark,  ark,  dark,  stark. 

Rkt.  Hark'd,  work'd,  dirk'd. 

Rks.  Harks,  works,  dirks,  arks. 

Rkst.  Work'st,  embark'st,  dirk'st. 

Rktst.  Bark'dst,  embark'dst,  dirk'dst. 

Rl.  Snarl,  marl,  whirl,  dirl,  girl,  hurl. 

Rid.  Snarl'd,  hurl'd,  world. 

Rlz.  Snarls,  hurls,  whirls. 

Rlst.  Snarl'st,  hurl'st,  whirl'st. 

Rldst  Snarl'dst,  hurl'dst,  whirl'dst. 


INTRODUCTORT    LESSONS.  83 


Rm.  Arm,  harm,  farm,  alarm. 

Rmd.  Arm'd,  harm'd,  alarm'd,  warm'd. 

Rmz.  Arms,  harms,  alarms,  warms. 

Rmst.  Arm'st,  harm'st,  alarm'st,  warm'st. 

Rmdst.  Arm' dst,  harm'dst,  alarm'dst. 

Rn.  Burn,  spurn,  turn,  fern. 

Rnd.  Burn'd,  spurn'd,  turn'd. 

Rnt.  Burnt,  learnt. 

Rnz.  Urns,  burns,  turns,  spurns. 

Rnst.  Earn'st,  learn'st. 

Rndst,  Earn'dst,  learn'dst. 

Rp.  Harp,  carp,  warp. 

Rpt.  Harp'd,  carp'd,  warp'd. 

Rps.  Harps,  carps,  warps. 

Rs.  Hearse,  verse,  terse. 

Rst.  First,  erst,  worst,  burst. 

Rsts.  Bursts. 

Rt.  Heart,  dart,  mart,  hart,  part,  art. 

Rts.  Harts,  darts,  marts,  parts,  arts. 

Rtst.  Hurt'st,  dart'st,  part'st. 

Rv.  Curve,  swerve,  carve. 

Rvd.  Curv'd,  swerv'd,  nerv'd. 

Rvz.  Curves,  swerves,  nerves. 

Rvst.  Curv'st,  swerv'st,  nerv'st. 

Rvtst.  Curv'dst,  swerv'dst,  nerv'dst. 

Rz.  Errs,  avers,  prefers,  offers,  scoffers. 

Rch.  Search,  lurch,  birch,  church. 

Rcht.  Search'd,  church'd. 

Rsh.  Harsh,  marsh. 

Rth.  Hearth,  earth,  birth,  dearth,  mirth. 

Rths.  Hearths,  earths,  births. 

8h.  Ship,  shut,  shun,  shine,  share. 

Sht.  Push'd,  hush'd,  brush'd,  crush'd. 

Sk.  Mask,  risk,  brisk,  frisk. 

8kt.  Mask'd,  risk'd,  frisk'd. 

Sks.  Masks,  risks,  frisks. 

Skst.  Mask'st,  risk'st,  frisk'st. 

SI.  Slay,  slew,  slain,  slim,  slink. 

Sid.  Nestled,  bristled,  wrestled. 

Sm.  Smoke,  smite,  smart,  small,  smack. 

Sn.  Snail,  snarl,  snort,  snag, 

Sp.  Spurn,  spank,  spirt,  spa. 

Sps,  Whisps,  lisps. 


84  INTROrrUCTORY    LESSONS. 

St.  Starve,  stay,  stock,  strike. 

Str.  Strain,  strong,  strive,  strung. 

Sts.  Busts,  lusts,  masts,  fasts,  blasts. 

Th.  Thine,  thee,  that,  those,  there. 

Th.  Thin,  thistle,  thief. 

Thd.  Wreathed,  breathed,  sheathed. 

Thz.  Wreathes,  breathes,  sheathes. 

Thst.  Wreath'st,  breath'st,  sheath'st. 

Tl.  Little,  title,  whittle,  bottle,  settle,  nettle 

TlcL  Settled,  whittled,  bottled,  nettled. 

Tlz.  Battles,  whittles,  bottles,  nettles,  settles 

Tlst,  Settl'st,  whittl'st,  bottl'st,  nettl'st. 

Tldst.  Settl'dst,  whittl'dst,  bottl'dst. 

TV.  Travels,  trinket,  trunk,  contrive. 

Tz.  Hats,  flits,  cats,  bats,  mats,  brats. 

Tst.  Combat'st. 

Vd.  Swerved,  nerved,  curved,  loved, 

Vdsf.  Liv'dst,  nerv'dst,  curv'dst,  swerv'dst 

Vl.  Swivel,  drivel,  grovel,  novel. 

Vld.  Drivel'd,  grovei'd. 

Viz.  Drivels,  swivels,  grovels,  nove  s. 

Vlst.  Drivel'st,  grovel'st. 

Vldst.  Drivel'dst,  grovel'dst. 

Vn.  Driven,  riven,  heaven. 

Vz.  Lives,  drives,  swerves,  nerves. 

Vat,  Liv'st. 

Zl.  Muzzle,  dazzle. 

Zld.  Muzzl'd,  dazzl'd. 

Zlz.  Muzzles,  dazzles. 

Zlst,  Muzzl'st,  dazzl'st. 

Zldst.  Muzzl'dst,  dazzl'dst. 

Zm.  Spasm,  chasm. 

Zmz.  Spasms,  chasms. 

Zn.  Prison,  risen,  mizzen. 

Ziid.  Imprisoned,  reasoned. 

Znz.  Prisons. 

Znst.  Imprison'dst. 

The  pupil,  having  been  required  to  pronounce  the  letters 
and  words  in  the  preceding  exercise,  may  now  read  the  fol- 
lowing sentences,  in  lohich  he  must  he  particularly  careful  to 
pronounce  clearly  and  distinctly  every  letter  which  is  not 
silent.      The  sentences  must  be  read  very  slowly. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


85 


533.  Deeply  possess  your  mind  with  the  vast  importance 
of  a  good  judgment,  and  the  inestimable  advantage  of  right 
reasoning. 

534.  Review  the  instances  of  your  own  misconduct  in  life. 

535.  Think  seriously  how  many  follies  and  sorrows  you 
might  have  escaped,  and  how  much  guilt  and  misery  you 
might  have  prevented,  if  from  your  early  years  you  had 
taken  pains  to  judge  correctly,  concerning  persons,  times, 
and  things. 

536.  This  will  awaken  you  with  lively  vigor  to  the  work 
of  improving  your  reasoning  powers,  and  seizing  every 
opportunity  and  advantage  for  that  end. 

537.  Consider  the  weakness,  frailties,  and  mistakes  of 
human  nature  in  general ;  the  depth  and  the  difficulty  of 
many  truths,  and  the  flattering  appearances  of  falsehood. 

538.  Whence  arise  the  infinite  varieties  of  dangers  to 
which  we  are  exposed  in  our  judgment  of  things? 

539.  Contrive  and  practise  some  suitable  methods  to  ac- 
quaint yourself  with  your  own  ignorance,  and  to  impress 
your  mind  with  a  deep  and  painful  sense  of  the  low  and 
imperfect  degrees  of  your  present  knowledge. 

540.  Presume  not  too  much  upon  a  bright  genius,  a  ready 
wit,  and  good  parts;  for  these,  without  labor  and  study,  will 
never  make  a  man  of  knowledge  and  wisdom. 

In  order  to  show  the  pupil  the  difference  between  distinct 
and  indistinct  articulation^  the  following  extract  is  presented; 
the  left-hand  column  being  printed  as  the  piece  is  frequently 
read  by  pupils  at  school,  and  the  right-hand  column  exhibit- 
ing the  same  as  it  should  be  articulated. 


541.  The  young  of  all  an- 
muls  pear  treceive  playzhu 
from  the  excise  of  thlimbs 
an  bodly  facties,  without  ref- 
frence  t  enny  end  ter  be 
tained,  ur  enny  use  tbe  ansd 
by  theexshun. 

542.  Ur  chile  without 
knowin  enny  thing  er  the 
use  er  languige  zin  er  high 
dgree  dlighted  with  bin  abe 
ter  speak. 

8 


541.  The  young  of  all  an- 
imals appear  to  receive  pleas- 
ure from  the  exercise  of 
their  limbs  and  bodily  facul- 
ties, without  reference  to 
any  end  to  be  attained,  and 
any  use  to  be  answered,  by 
the  exertion. 

542.  A  child,  without 
knowing  any  thing  of  the 
use  of  language,  is  in  a  high 
degree  delighted  with  being 
able  to  speak. 


86 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


548.  Its  cessant  reption 
uv  er  few  ticlate  sounds  or 
praps  of  a  single  word,  which 
it  has  lunned  ter  primounce, 
proves  this  point  clilly. 

544.  Nor  ist  less  pleased 
with  its  fust  successful  deav- 
urs  ter  walk,  or  rath  ter  run, 
which  purcedes  walkin,  al- 
though tirely  ignurunt  er 
th  importance  er  th  attain- 
munt  tits  futur  life,  an  even 
without  plyin  it  ter  enny 
present  purps. 

545.  Childs  dlighted  with 
speak  without  hav  enny 
thing  tur  say,  an  with  walk 
without     known    wither    ter 

go- 

546.  An  prevesly  ter  both 
these  sreasonable  ter  blieve 
that  the  wake  hours  funcy 
ragreebly  take  up  with  thex- 
cise  vish,  or  praps  more 
prop  speak,  with  learn  ter 
see. 


543.  Its  incessant  repeti- 
tion of  a  few  articulate 
sounds,  or  perhaps  of  a  sin- 
gle word,  which  it  has  learn- 
ed to  pronounce,  proves  this 
point  clearly. 

544.  Nor  is  it  less  pleased 
with  its  first  successful  en- 
deavors to  walk,  or  rather  to 
run,  which  precedes  walkmg; 
although  entirely  ignorant  of 
the  importance  of  the  altain- 
ment  to  its  future  life,  and 
even  without  applying  it  to 
any  present  purpose. 

545.  A  child  is  delighted 
with  speaking,  without  hav- 
ing any  thing  to  say;  and 
with  walking,  without  know- 
ing whither  to  go. 

546.  And  previously  to 
both  these,  it  is  reasonable 
to  believe  that  the  waking 
hours  of  infancy  are  agreea- 
bly taken  up  with  the  exer- 
cise of  vision,  or  perhaps, 
more  properly  speaking,  with 
learning  to  see. 

In  reading  the  above  sentences  in  the  right-hand  column^ 
the  pupil  must  be  particularly  careful  to  pronounce  clearly 
and  distinctly  all  the  sounds  which  he  finds  omitted  in  the 
left-hand  column^  particularly  the  syllablemg,  the  letters  d,  n, 
t,  and  all  the  proper  vowel  sounds. 


LESSON    XXVI. 

MANNER,    OR    EXPRESSION. 

In  this  lesson,  the  pupil  is  required  to  adapt  the  manner 
of  his  reading  to  the  meaning  of  the  seiitences  which  he  is  to 
read ;    and  endeavor  to  imitate,  as  closely  as  possible,  the 


INTKODUCTORY    LESSONS.  87 

tones  which  nature  teaches  him  to  use  in  common  conversa- 
tion, or  when  he  is  affected  hy  strong  feelings.  Thus,  if  he 
have  such  a  sentence  as  the  following  to  read, — 

**  Sirrah,  savage,  dost  thou  pretend  to  be  ashamed  of  my 
company  ?  Dost  thou  know  that  I  have  kept  the  best  com- 
pany in  England  1"  — 

lie  will  of  course  read  it  in  quite  a  different  manner  from 
that  which  he  would  use  in  this  which  follows  : 

"Are  you  sick,  Hubert?  You  look  pale  to-day.  In 
Booth,  I  would  you  were  a  little  sick,  that  I  might  sit  all 
night  and  watch  with  you.  I  warrant  I  love  you  more  than 
you  do  me." 

[The  following  sentence  should  he  read  in  an  angry 
manner.'\ 

547.  Father,  what  sort  of  a  tree  is  that  which  you  have 
given  me  1  It  is  as  dry  as  a  broomstick  ;  and  I  shall  not 
have  ten  apples  on  it.  You  have  treated  my  brother  Ed- 
mund better  than  you  have  me.  You  have  given  him  a  tree 
which  is  full  of  apples.  You  ought  to  make  him  give  me 
half  of  them. 

[  The  following  should  he  read  in  a  milder  manner."] 

548.  Give  you  half  of  them?  Your  tree  was  as  fruitful 
and  in  as  good  order  as  his ;  but  you  have  not  taken  good 
care  of  it.  Edmund  has  kept  his  tree  clear  of  hurtful  in- 
sects; but  you  have  suffered  them  to  eat  up  yours  in  its 
blossoms.  I  shall  not  direct  him  to  share  his  apples  with  so 
idle  a  boy  as  you  have  been. 

[  To  be  read  in  a  respectful,  calm,  but  decided  manner.] 

549.  Alexander !  I  am  your  captive  —  I  must  hear  what 
you  please  to  say,  and  endure  what  you  please  to  inflict. 
But  my  soul  is  unconquered ;  and  if  I  reply  at  all  to  your 
reproaches,  I  will  reply  like  a  free  man. 

[  To  be  read  in  a  threatening  manner.] 

550.  He  DARES  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline. 

551.  [With  surprise.]    What!  does  life  displease  thee ? 
[Calmly,   but   loith   emphasis.]    Yes;  —  it   displeases  me 

when  I  see  a  tyrant. 

552.  [Mildly.]  The  sun  not  set  yet,  Thomas  ?  Not  quite, 
sir.  It  blazes  tnrough  the  trees  on  the  hill  yonder,  as  if 
their  branches  were  all  on  fire. 


88  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

553.  [With  energy. '\  Sirrah,  I  begin  with  this  kick,  as 
a  tribute  to  your  boasted  honor.  Get  you  into  the  boat, 
or  I  will  give  you  another.  I  am  impatient  to  have  you 
condemned. 

554  [With  moderation.']  Stranger,  if  thou  hast  learnt  a 
truth,  which  needs  experience  more  than  reason,  that  the 
world  is  full  of  guilt  and  misery ;  and  hast  known  enough 
of  all  its  sorrows,  crimes,  and  cares,  to  tire  thee  of  it  — 
enter  this  wild  wood,  and  view  the  haunts  of  nature. 

555.  [Proudly  and  haughtily*']  Do  you  pretend  to  sit 
as  high  on  Olympus  as  Hercules?  Did  you  destroy  tyrants 
and  robbers?  You  value  yourself  greatly  on  subduing  one 
serpent.     I  did  as  much  as  that  while  I  lay  in  my  cradle. 

556.  [With  fear.]  Mirza,  terror  and  doubt  are  come 
upon  me.  I  am  alarmed  as  a  man  who  suddenly  perceives 
that  he  is  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  is  urged  forward 
by  an  irresistible  force;  but  yet  I  know  not  whether  my 
danger  is  a  reality  or  a  dream. 

557.  [In  a  threatening  manner.]  I  know  thou  art  a  scoun- 
drel!  Not  pay  thy  debts!  Kill  thy  friend  who  lent  thee 
money,  for  asking  thee  for  it!  Get  out  of  my  sight,  or  1 
will  drive  thee  into  the  Styx. 

558.  [In  a  commanding  inanner.]  Stop,  I  command  thee. 
No  violence.     Talk  to  him  calmly. 

559.  [In  a  solemn  manner.]  Such  are  the  excuses  which 
irreligion  offers  Could  you  have  believed  that  they  were  so 
empty,  so  unworthy,  so  hollow,  so  absurd?  And  shall  such 
excuses  be  offered  to  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth?  By 
such  apologies  shall  man  insult  his  Creator? 

560.  [In  a  mournful  manner.]  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  mother  1 
don't  you  know  your  son !  your  poor  boy,  George? 

561.  [In  a  terrified  manner.]  The  Lord  have  mercy  upon 
us  —  what  is  this  ? 

562.  [In  a  proud,  disdainful  manner.]  Why  then  dost 
thou  frown  on  Fingal?  Or  shake  thine  airy  spear?  But 
thou  frownest  in  vain :  I  never  fled  from  mighty  men.  And 
shall  the  sons  of  the  wind  frighten  the  King  of  Morven? 
No ;  he  knows  the  weakness  of  their  arms. 

563.  [In  an  energetic  manner.]  Now  launch  the  boat 
upon  the  wave,  —  the  wind  is  blowing  off  the  shore  —  I  will 
not  live  a  cowering  slave  on  these  polluted  islands  more. 


*  See  Number  128,  page  .33. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONSJ.  89 

Beyond  the  wild,  dark,  heaving  sea,  there  is  a  better  home 
for  me. 

564.  [In  a  plaintive,  sorrowful  manner.'^  O  Switzerland  ! 
my  country!  'tis  to  thee  I  strike  my  harp  in  agony:  —  My 
country  !  nurse  of  liberty,  home  of  the  gallant,  great,  and 
free,  my  sullen  harp  I  strike  to  thee.  Oh  !  1  have  lost  you 
all !  —  parents,  and  home,  and  friends. 

565.  [With  quickness  and  emphasis.^  Talk  to  me  of 
dangers?  —  Death  and  shame! — is  not  my  race  as  high,  as 
ancient,  and  as  proud  as  thine?  By  heaven,  it  grieves  me, 
Harry  Percy,  preaching  such  craven  arguments  to  me. 

566.  [With  humility.]  Father,  I  have  sinned  against 
heaven,  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be 
called  thy  son. 

567.  [With  horror.]  How  frightful  the  grave!  how  de- 
serted and  drear !  with  the  howls  of  the  storm  wind  —  the 
creaks  of  the  bier,  and  the  white  bones  all  clattering  together. 

568.  [  With  calmness.]  How  lovely,  how  sweet  the  repose 
of  the  tomb  !  No  tempests  are  there  ;  —  but  the  nightin- 
gales come,  and  sing  their  sweet  chorus  of  bliss. 

569.  [Li  an  authoritative  manner.]  Heat  me  these  irons 
hot;  and  look  thou  stand  within  the  arras:  when  I  strike 
my  foot  upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  rush  forth,  and  bind 
the  boy,  which  you  shall  find  with  me,  fast  to  the  chair :  be 
heedful :  hence,  and  watch. 

570.  [In  a  supplicating  tone.]  Alas !  what  need  you  be 
so  boisterous  rough?  I  will  not  struggle,  I  will  stand  stone- 
still.  For  heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound! 
Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert!  drive  these  men  away,  and  I  will  sit 
as  quiet  as  a  lamb  ;  I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a 
word,  nor  look  upon  the  irons  angrily;  thrust  but  these  men 
away,  and  I'll  forgive  you,  whatever  torments  you  do  put  me  to. 

571.  [Solemn  caution.]  Lochiel !  Lochiel,  beware  of  the 
day  when  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array  !  for 
a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight,  and  the  clans  of 
CuUoden  are  scattered  in  fight. 


ALEXANDER  S    FEAST. 

572. 

Martial  Dascriplion, 

'T  was  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 
By  Philip's  warlike  son, 
8^ 


90  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

Awe. 

Aloft,  in  awful  state, 
The  godlike  hero  sate 
On  his  imperial  throne. 

Admiration. 

His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around. 

Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtle  bound  : 

So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crown'd. 

Delight. 

The  lovely  Thais,  by  his  side. 
Sat  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride, 
In  flower  of  youth,  and  beauty's  pride. 

Rapture. 

Happy,  happy,  happy  pair! 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave. 

Triumph. 

None  but  the  brave,  deserve  the  fair. 
573. 

Description. 

Timotheus,  placed  on  high. 

Amid  the  tuneful  choir. 

With  flying  fingers  touch'd  the  lyre : 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky, 

And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove, 
Who  left  his  blissful  seat  above — 
Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  love  !  — 

Awe. 

A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god  : 
Sublime  on  radiant  spheres  he  rode. 
When  he  to  fair  Olympia  press'd 
And  stamp'd  an  image  of  himself,  a  sovereign  of  the  world 
The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound: 

Surprise  increased. 

"A  present  deity!"  they  shout  around;  — 
"  A  present  deity  ! "  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 
With  ravish'd  ears 
>  The  monarch  hears, 

Importance. 

Assumes  the  god. 
Affects  to  nod. 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  91 


574. 


Jovial  description. 

The  praise  of  Bacchus,  then  the  sweet  musician  sungi 
Of  Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young ! 

The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes ! 

Sound  the  trumpets !  beat  the  drums  1 

Flush'd  with  a  purple  grace, 

He  shows  his  honest  face. 

Inciting. 

Now  give  the  hautboys  breath.  —  He  comes!  he  comes! 
Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young, 
Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain. 

Bacchanulian   rapture. 

Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure ; 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure. 

Rich  the  treasure, 

Sweet  the  pleasure; 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain ! 

575. 

Soothed  with  the  sound,  the  king  grew  vain ; 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again : 

Swelling. 

And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew  the  slain! 

Observing. 

The  master  saw  the  madness  rise ; 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes :  {rapidly.) 
And  while  he  heaven  and  earth  defied, 
(Slowly.)     Chang'd  his  hand,  and  check'd  his  pride  • 

576. 

Sorrowful. 

He  chose  a  mournful  muse. 
Soft  pity  to  infuse ;     (very  slowly.) 
He  sung  Darius  great  and  good ! 
By  too  severe  a  fate, 

Fallen!  fallen!  fallen!  fallen! —    {gradually sinTdng.) 
{Louder.)  Fallen  from  his  high  estate. 
And  weltering  in  his  blood ! 


*  There  should  be  a  transition  in  the  voice  here,  as  in  the  strain  of  Timo- 
tlieus,  from  heroic  to  pallietic  ;  as  rapid  too. 


92  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

Reproach. 

Deserted  at  his  utmost  need 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed, 
On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies, 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes ! 

Reflection. 

With  downcast  look  the  joyless  victor  sate, 
Revolving,  in  his  alter'd  soul, 

The  various  turns  of  fate  below ; 
And  now  and  then  a  sigh  he  stole, 

Pity. 

And  tears  began  to  flow ! 
577. 

Secret  satisfaction. 

The  mighty  master  smiled,  to  see 

That  love  was  in  the  next  degree : 

'Twas  but  a  kindred  sound  to  move ; 

For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love,     {rapidly ^ 

Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  measures,         changed  to 

Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures.  livdy.) 

Remonstrance. 

War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble ;  » 

Honor,  but  an  empty  bubble; 
Never  ending,  still  beginning. 

Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying. 

Requesting. 

If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning. 
Think,  oh,  think  it  worth  enjoying! 

Admiration. 

Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee. 

Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee. 

Bursts  of  approbation. 

The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause : 
So  love  was  crown'd ;  but  music  won  the  cause 

578. 
The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain. 

Pensive. 

Gazed  on  the  fair. 
Who  caused  his  care. 

Effeminately. 

And  sigh'd  and  look'd,  sigh'd  and  look'd 
Sigh'd  and  look'd,  and  sigh'd  again : 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  93 

At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppress'd, 
The  vanquish'd  victor  —  sunk  upon  her  breast! 

579. 

Burst  of  voice.* 

Now  Strike  the  golden  lyre  again  ! 

A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain ! 

Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder. 

And  rouse  him  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder! 

Amazement. 

Hark !  hark !  —  the  horrid  sound 

Has  raised  up  his  head, 

As  awaked  from  the  dead; 
And,  amazed,  he  stares  around. 

580. 

Inciting  furiously. 

Revenge!  revenge!  Timotheus  cries  — 

See  the  furies  arise  ! 

See  the  snakes  that  they  rear, 

How  they  hiss  in  their  hair. 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  eyes !     {rapidly.) 

Behold  a  ghastly  band. 

Each  a  torch  in  his  hand. 
These  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  battle  were  slain, 

And,  unburied,  remain  ' 

Inglorious  on  the  plain. 

Give  the  vengeance  due 

To  the  valiant  crew! 
Behold !  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 
How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes. 
And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods. 

581. 

Breathless  eagerness. 

The  princes  applaud,  with  a  furious  joy;  f 

And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau,  with  zeal  to  destroy ; 

Thais  led  the  way. 

To  light  him  to  his  prey ! 

Burst. 

And,  like  another  Helen,  fired — another  Troy. 

*  The   burst  upon  "  rouse ; "  dwelling  on  the  consonant   r,  trilled   by   the 
tongue  against  the  uoper  gum. 

t  The  princes  —  appiaud  —  with  a  furious — joy  } 
And  the  king  —  seized  a  flaraU«au  —  with  z«a1  — to  dostroy,  &e. 


94  INTEODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

582. 

Narrative  manner. 

Thus,  long  ago, 
Ere  heaving  bellows  learned  to  blow, 
While  organs  .yet  were  mute, 
Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute 

And  sounding  lyre. 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 

5S3. 

Pleasure. 

At  last,  divine  Cecilia  came, 

Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame. 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 

Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 

And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds. 
With  nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 

Concluding. 

Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 
Or  both  divide  the  crown  : 

Awe. 

He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies ; 

Delight. 

She  drew  an  angel  down.  —  Dry  den. 

s  584. 

Disdain. 

Go,  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-telling  seer! 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear. 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight, 
This  roantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright. 


LESSON    XXVII. 

PITCH   OF  THE  VOICE. 

Every  person  has  three  keys,  or  pitches  of  the  voice,  called 

THE    HIGH,  THE    MIDDLE  and  THE    LOW  KEY. 

The  HIGH  KEY  w  that  which  is  used  in  calling  to  a  person 
at  a  distance. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  95 

The  MIDDLE  KEY  is  that  which  is  used  in  common  con- 
versation. 

The  LOW  KEY  is  that  which  is  used  lohen  we  wish  no  one  to 
iear,  except  the  person  to  whom  we  speak ;  and  is  almost,  but 
\ot  quite,  a  whisper. 

Each  one  of  these  Iceys  or  pitches  of  the  voice  has  different 
degrees  of  loudness  ;  and  it  is  important  that  the  pupil  should 
txercise  his  voice  in  speaking,  in  all  of  these  keys,  both  with 
viildness  and  with  force. 

[The  pupil  may  read  the  following  sentence  in  each  of  the 
different  keys.] 

585.  They  have  rushed  through  like  a  hurricane  ;  like  an 
army  of  locusts  they  have  devoured  the  earth ;  the  war  has 
fallen  like  a  water-spout,  and  deluged  the  land  with  blood. 

[Read  the  following  in  the  high  key.] 

586.  Next  Anger  rushed ;  —  his  eyes  on  fire,  in  lightnings 
owned  his  secret  stings;  in  one  rude  clash  he  struck  his 
lyre,  and  swept  with  hurried  hands  the  strings. 

[Read  the  folloicing  in  the  low  key.] 

587.  With  woful  measures  wan  Despair  —  low,  sullen 
sounds  his  grief  beguiled :  —  a  solemn,  strange,  and  min- 
gled air :  —  'twas  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'twas  wild. 

[Read  the  follotoing  in  the  middle  key,] 

588.  But  thou,  O  Hope !  with  eyes  so  fair,  what  was  thy 
delighted  measure?  Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 
and  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail ! 

589.  [Read  icith  the  high  key.]  But,  with  a  frown,  Re- 
venge impatient  rose.  He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in 
thunder  down ;  and,  with  a  withering  look,  the  war-denoun- 
cing trumpet  took,  and  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread,  were 
ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe.  And  ever  and  anon 
he  beat  the  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat :  [Low  key, 
very  sloioly.]  and  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  be- 
tween, dejected  Pity,  at  his  side,  her  soul-subduing  voice 
applied,  [High  key,  rapidly.]  yet  still  he  kept  his  wild,  un- 
altered mien,  while  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  burst- 
ing from  his  head. 

590.  [Middle  key.]  Alexander  the  Great  demanded  of  a 
pirate,  whom  he  had  taken,  by  what  right  he  infested  the 
seas.  "  By  the  same  right,"  replied  the  pirate,  *'  that  Alexan- 
der enslaves  the  world.  But  I  am  called  a  robber,  because  I 
have  only  one  small  vessel ;  and  he  is  styled  a  conqueror, 
because  he  commands  great  fleets  and  armies." 


J-ff  INTRODUCTORY  LESSONS. 

LESSON    XXVIII. 

TRANSITION. 

[It  is  important  that  the  pupil  practise  a  change  or  transi- 
tion of  the  voice  from  loud  and  forcible  utterance  to  a  softer 
and  lower  tone ;  and  from  rapid  to  slow  pronunciation.  In 
this  lesson  he  is  presented  with  a  few  examples  in  which 
such  a  change  of  manner  is  required.] 

591.  [Softli/  and  sloicly.']  An  hour  passed  on.  The 
Turk  awoke.  That  bright  dream  was  his  last.  [More 
loudly.']  He  woke  —  to  hear  the  sentry's  shriek,  [Very  loud 
and  rapid.]  "  To  arms  !  they  come  !  the  Greek  !  the  Greek !  " 
[Slowly  and  softly.]  He  woke  to  die  midst  flame  and  smoke, 
and  shout  and  groan,  and  sabre  stroke,  and  [Faster  and 
louder.]  death  shots  falling  thick  and  fast,  as  lightnings  from 
the  mountain  cloud ;  [Still  louder.]  and  heard,  with  voice 
as  trumpet  loud,  Bozzaris  cheer  his  band ;  [  Very  loud,  rap- 
idly, and  with  much  animation.]  Strike — till  the  last  armed 
foe  expires — Strike — for  your  altars  and  your  fires — Strike — 
for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires,  God  —  and  your  native  land. 

[In  a  softer  and  sloioer  manner.]  They  fought  —  like  brave 
men,  long  and  well,  —  they  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem 
slain,  —  they  conquered — [Very  slowly,  and  in  a  mournful 
manner.]    but  Bozzaris  fell,  bleeding  at  every  vein. 

592.  [In  a  gentle  manner  and  low  tone.]  When,  doffed 
his  casque,  he  felt  free  air,  around  'gan  *  Marmion  wildly 
stare :  —  [Much  louder,  and  in  a  wild  and  somewhat  angry 
manner.]  "Where's  Harry  Blount?  Fitz  Eustace,  where? 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare?  Redeem  my  pennon, — 
charge  again!  Cry  —  'Marmion  to  the  rescue.'  —  [Very 
slowly,  and  almost  in  a  lohisper.]  Vain!  Last  of  my  race, 
on  battle  plain  that  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again !  [In- 
creasing in  loudness.]  Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's  :  — 
[Louder,  and  with  more  earnestness.]  fly  —  Fitz  Eustace,  to 
Lord  Surrey  hie.  [Mo7'e  rapidly.]  Tunstall  lies  dead  upon 
the  field  ;  his  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield :  Edmund 
is   down,  —  my  life   is   reft,  —  the   Admiral    alone    is   left. 

*  A  «ontraction  for  be^an.    See  Apostrophe,  Lesson  20,  page  64. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  97 

[Ti^z^/t  7nuch  earnestness  of  manner. "j  Let  Stanley  charge 
with  spur  of  fire,  with  Chester  charge  and  Lancashire,  full 
upon  Scotland's  central  host,  [Slowli/.]  or  victory  and  Eng- 
land's lost.  [An^n-i/i/.]  Must  I  bid  twice?  —  hence,  varlets  ! 
fly  !     Leave  Marmion  here  alone  —  to  die." 

593.  [Distinet/i/,  slowly,  and  in  a  moderate  tone,']  Yet 
still  Lord  Marm ion's  falcon  flew  with  wavering  flight,  while 
fiercer  grew  around  the  battle  yell.  [^Loudly  and  quickly.] 
"  A  Home  !  a  Gordon  !  "  was  the  cry. 

594.  [Sloicly  and  loith  feeling.]  Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there, 
my  countrymen !  Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
[Loudly  and  loith  emphasis.]  while  bloody  treason  flourished 
over  us. 

595.  [Softly  and  slowly.]  Oh,  now  you  weep  ;  and  I  per- 
ceive you  feel  the  dint  of  pity: — these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls!  [Quickly ^  louder,  and  with  strong  emphasis.] 
What,  weep  you  when  you  but  behold  our  Caesar's  VES- 
TURE wounded  ?  [  Very  loudly  and  earnestly.]  Look  ye 
here  !  —  here  is  HIMSELF  —  marred  as  you  see  by  traitors. 

596.  [Very  sloicly  and  sorrowfully.]  Oh,  I  could  play 
the  woman  with  mine  eyes,  and  braggart  with  my  tongue  !  — 
[With  earnestness,  louder,  and  rapidly.]  But,  gentle  heaven, 
cut  short  all  intermission;  front  to  front,  bring  thou  this 
fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself;  [Still  more  forcibly,  but  with 
a  lower  tone.]  within  my  sword's  length  set  him ;  if  he 
escape,  heaven  forgive  him  too. 

597.  [Proudly,  and  tnith  a  loud  and  angry  manner.]  But 
here  I  stand  and  scoff*  you;  —  here  I  fling  hatred  and  defi- 
ance in  your  face.  [In  a  much  milder  manner,  slowly,  and  in 
derision.]  Your  consul's  *  merciful  —  For  this  —  all  thanks 
[Very  loud,  and  in  a  threatening  manner.  See  Number 
550.]    He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline. 

598.  [In  a  low  tone,  very  softly.]  His  words  do  take  pos- 
session of  my  bosom,  —  [Louder,  and  with  earnestness.] 
Read  here,  young  Arthur.  [  Very  softly,]  How  now,  fool- 
ish rheum  !  turning  dospiteous  torture  out  the  door  !  I  must 
be  brief,  lest  resolution  drop  out  at  my  eyes  in  tender, 
womanish  tears.  —  [Louder,  and  as  if  striving  to  hide  his 
tears.]    Can  you  not  read  it  ?     Is  it  not  fair  writ '? 

*  Tlie  pupil  will  notire  thnl  t'nere  arc  many  abbreviations  of  this  kind  made 
in  this  book  in  pieces  which  apjiear  to  be  jyrose.  All  the  sentences  which  are 
poetical  have  been  printed  in  the  form  of  prose,  to  prevent  the  "  sins;  song" 
niajmcr  of  reading.  But  it  must  be  understood  and  recollected,  that  although 
abbreviiitions  are  nllowable  in  poetry,  they  are  not  admitted  in  prose. 

9 


98  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

599.  [Sloivli/,  and  in  a  very  sad  manner.]  Too  fairly, 
Hubert,  for  so  foul  effect.  [In  an  entreating  manner.] 
Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes? 

In  a  stern  manner.]    Young  boy,  I  must. 

In  a   very    sorrowful  and  supplicating   manner.]    And 
will  you  ? 

[Sternly^  and  in  an  apparently  determined  manner.]  And 
I  will. 

600.  [With  a  very  earnest^  sorrowful,  and  entreating 
manner.]  Will  you  put  out  mine  eyes?  These  eyes  that 
never  did,  nor  never  shall,  so  much  as  frown  on  you? 

601.  [In  a  rough  manner,  hut  still  struggling  to  conceal 
his  pity.]  I  have  sworn  to  do  it ;  and  with  hot  irons  must  1 
burn  them  out. 

602.  [In  a  very  pathetic  manner.]  If  an  angel  should 
have  come  to  me,  and  told  me,  Hubert  should  put  out  mine 
eyes,  I  would  not  have  believed  no  tongue  but  Hubert's.* 

603.  [In  a  kind,  reUnting,  and  very  feeling  manner.] 
Well — see  to  live;  I  will  not  touch  thine  eyes,  for  all  the 

treasure  that  thy  uncle  owes.  [In  a  slow,  solemn,  and 

decided  manner.]    Yet  I  am  sworn,  and  I  did  purpose,  boy, 
with  this  same  very  iron  to  burn  them  out. 

604.  [///  a  joyful  and  grateful  manner.]  O,  now  you 
look  like  Hubert!  all  this  while  you  were  disguised. 

605.  [In  an  animated  manner.]  The  combat  deepens  — 
[  Very  loud,  rapidly,  and  with  much  energy.]  On,  ye  brave, 
who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave!  Wave,  Munich,  all  thy 
banners  wave ;  and  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry. 

606.  [In  a  slow,  solemn,  and  mournful  manner.]  Ah,  few 
shall  part  where  many  meet!  The  snow  shall  be  their 
winding-sheet,  and  every  turf  beneath  their  feet  shall  be  a 
soldier's  sepulchre. 

*  This  expression,  "  I  wovld  not  have  believed  no  tongiie  but  Hubert's"  is  a 
grammatical  error,  hardly  sanctioned  even  by  the  great  name  of  Shakspeare, 
from  whom  it  was  taken.  The  poets  frequently  have  "^reat  liberties  allowed 
thinn  under  the  name  of  poetic  license ;  and  the  nameof  Sliakspeare  "  honors  this 
corruption.'^  Were  it  laiown  to  a  certainty  that  he  was  a  classical  scholar, 
the  expression  above  quoted  might  be  pardoned  as  an  idiotism,  or  imitation  of 
the  Greek  construction,  in  which,  double  negatives  are  frequently  used  to 
strengthen  the  negation.  —  See  Parker  and  Fox's  Grammar,  Part  IT.  page 
47.  No.  106,  and  Andrews  and  Stoddard's  Latin  Grammar,  page  303, 
§  325,  No.  6,  edition  of  1836.  —  Shakspeare  and  Cowper  both  use  the  expres- 
sions, •''  I  had  as  lief  not  be,"  and  ^'  I  had  much  rather  be ; "  thus  joining  the 
auxiliary  of  the  pluperfect  tense  with  the  present.  —  See  Parker  and  Fox's 
Grammar,  Part  II.  page  54. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  93 

LESSON    XXIX. 

ELLIPTICAL    SENTENCES. 

An  Ellipsis*  means  an  omission;  and  when  any  thing  is 
omitted,  or  purposely  left  out,  it  is  said  that  there  is  an  ellip- 
sis in  the  sentence^  and  the  sentence  is  called  an  elliptical 
sentence. 

Elliptical  sentences  occur  very  frequently ;  and  it  is 
necessary,  in  reading  such  sentences,  to  supply,  in  our 
minds,  all  that  is  omitted,  in  order  to  give  the  proper  tone, 
accent,  emphasis,  and  expression.  Thus  in  the  following 
questions,  —  **  What  went  ye  out  into  the  wilderness  to  see? 
A  reed  shaken  by  the  wind  ?  " —  there  is  an  ellipsis  or  omis- 
sion  of  the  words  "  did  you  go  out  to  see ; "  and  when  these 
words  are  supplied,  the  questions  will  he,  "What  went  ye 
out  into  the  wilderness  to  see?  Did  you  go  out  to  see  a 
reed  shaken  by  the  wind? 

Elliptical  sentences  must  always  he  read  in  the  same 
manner,  with  the  same  emphasis,  tone,  accent,  and  expression, 
that  tliry  would  be  if  the  ellipses  were  supplied. 

In  every  elliptical  sentence,  a  pause  should  he  made  at 
every  ellipsis  long  enough  to  pronounce,  or  rather  to  think 
over,  the  words  which  are  omitted. 

In  the  following  sentences,  the  ellipsis  is  supplied  in  Italic 
letters,  in  the  form  of  a  parenthesis.  The  pupil  will  first 
read  them  as  they  stand,  and  then  read  them  with  the  omis- 
sion of  those  parts  lohich  are  in  Italic  letters. 

607.  What  sought  they  thus  afar?  (Did  they  seek) 
Bright  jewels  of  the  mine?  (Did  they  seek)  The  wealth 
of  seas?  (or)  the  spoils  of  war  ?  (No,  they  did  not  seek 
either  of  these,  hut)    They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine. 

608.  What,  then,  would  it  be  reasonable  to  expect  from 
the  fnnciful  tribe,  from  the  musicians  and  poets  of  such  a 
region  ?  ( Would  it  he  reasonable  to  expect)  Strains  ex- 
pressive  of  joy,  tranquillity,  or  the  softer  passions  ?     No  ; 

*  See  Lesson  19,  page  6-2. 


100  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

their  style  must  have  been  better  suited  to  their  circum- 
stances. 

609.  Art  thou  the  Thracian  robber,  of  whose  exploits  I 
have  heard  so  much? 

(Nu!  I  am  not  a  Thracian  robber ^  but)  I  am  a  Thra- 
cian, and  a  soldier. 

(Do  you  call  yourself)  A  soldier?  (/  consider  you  as 
nothing  better  than)  a  thief,  a  plunderer,  an  assassin ! 
(who  is)    the  pest  of  the  country. 

610.  No  deep  and  deadly  quarrel  was  between  these 
brothers,  and  neither  of  them  could  distinctly  tell  the  cause 
of  this  unnatural  estrangement.  Perhaps  dim  jealousies 
of  their  father's  favor  (was  the  cause  of  this  unnatural 
estrangement  —  perhaps)  selfish  thoughts  that  will  some- 
times force  themselves  into  poor  men's  hearts  respect- 
mg  temporal  expectations  (was  the  cause  of  this  unnatural 
estrangement  —  perhaps)  unaccommodating  manners  on  both 
sides  (we?'e  the  cause  of  this  unnatural  estrangement  —  per^ 
haps)  taunting  words  that  mean  little  when  uttered,  but 
which  rankle  and  fester  in  remembrance,  or  imagined  op- 
position of  interests,  that,  duly  considered,  would  have  been 
found  one  and  the  same,  (we?'e  the  causes  of  this  unnatural 
estrangement)  —  these  and  many  other  causes,  slight  when 
single,  but  strong  when  rising  up  together  in  one  baneful 
band,  had  gradually,  but  fatally  infected  their  hearts,  till  at 
last  they  who  in  youth  had  been  seldom  separate,  and  truly 
attached,  now  met  at  market,  and,  miserable  to  say,  (not 
only  at  market,  but  even  also)  at  church,  with  dark  and 
averted  faces,  like  different  clansmen  during  a  feud. 

611.  What  shall  we  call  them?  (Shall  we  call  them) 
Piles  of  crystal  light? — (Shall  we  call  them)  A  glorious 
company  of  golden  streams  —  (Shall  ive  call  them)  Lamps 
of  celestial  ether  burning  bright  —  (or)  suns  lighting  sys- 
tems with  their  joyous  beams  ?  But  thou  to  these  art  as  the 
noon  to  night. 

612.  Hail  to  your  lordship !     I  am  glad  to  see  you  well. 
{It  is)  Horatio  (who  speaks  to  me,)  or  1  do  forget  myself 

613.  (It  is)  The  same,  my  lord,  and  (I  am)  your  poor 
servant  ever. 

614.  Sir,  (you  are)  my  good  friend.  Pll  change  that 
name  with  you. 

615.  Ah,  whither  now  are  fled  those  dreams  of  greatness? 
(Whither  now  are  fed)  Those  unsated  hopes  of  happi- 
ness ?     (  Whither  now  are  fed)  Those  busy,  bustling  days ' 


INTRODUCTORY   LCSSoI^S: 


m 


(Whither  now  are  fled*)  Those  gay-spent,  festive  nights, 
(and)  those  veering  thoughts,  lost  between  good  and  ill,  that 
shared  thy  life  1 

616.  Almighty!  trembling  like  a  timid  child,  I  hear  thy 

awful  voice (and  when  I  hear  it  I  am)  alarmed  — 

(and)  afraid.  I  see  the  flashes  of  thy  lightning  wild,  and  in 
the  very  grave  would  hide  my  head. 

617.  Sourceless  and  endless  God!  compared  with  thee, 
life  is  a  shadowy,  (and  not  only  a  shadoicy,  but  also  a)  mo- 
mentary dream ;  and  (even)  time,  when  viewed  through  thy 
eternity,  (is)  less  than  the  mote  of  morning's  golden  beam. 

618.  What  excuse  can  the  Englishman  plead?  (Will  he 
plead)  the  custom  of  duelling?  An  excuse,  this  (is)  that  in 
these  regions  cannot  avail. 

The  spirit  that  made  him  draw  his  sword  in  the  combat 
against  his  friend,  is  not  the  spirit  of  honor ;  it  is  the  spirit 
of  the  furies,  (it  is  the  spirit)  of  Alecto  herself  (who  was 
the  chief  of  the  furies.)  To  her  he  must  go,  for  she  has 
long  dwelt  in  his  merciless  bosom. 

619.  Curse  these  cowardly  covenanters  —  what  (shall  toe 
do)  if  they  tumble  down  upon  our  heads  pieces  of  rock  from 
their  hiding  places?  (Shall  we)  advance?  Or  (shall  we) 
retreat? 

620.  To  save  a  bishop,  may  I  name  a  dean?  (3Tai/  you 
name)  a  dean,  sir?  No;  his  fortune  is  not  made;  you  hurt 
a  man  that's  rising  in  the  trade.  If  (I  may)  not  (name)  the 
tradesman  who  set  up  to-day,  much  less  (may  I  name)  the 
apprentice  who  to-morrow  may  (set  tip.) 

621.  And  what  are  things  eternal?  Powers  depart,  (and 
therefore  they  are  not  things  eternal,)  possessions  vanish, 
(and  therefore  they  are  not  things  eternal,)  and  opinions 
change,  (and  therefore  they  are  not  things  eternal,)  and  pas- 
sions hold  a  fluctuating  seat,  (and  therefore  they  are  not 
things  eternal;)  but,  by  the  storms  of  circumstance  unshaken, 
and  subject  neither  to  eclipse  nor  wane,  duty  exists  —  im- 
mutably survives!  What  (is  there)  more  that  may  not 
perish? 

622.  So  goes  the  world ;  if  (you  are)  wealthy,  you  may 

*  Tlie  ellipsis  is  suppliod  at  each  of  these  inquiries,  lo  show  that  the  falling 
inflection  of  the  voice  is  required  at  each  of  the  questions;  [see  Lesson  6</j  ;J 
and  it  will  be  noticed  ihroun^hout  (his  lesson  that  the  ellipsis  is  supplied  in 
parentheses  in  many  sentences  where  it  may  appear  to  be  superfluous ;  but 
the  author's  design  in  so  doing'  is  lo  lead  more  directly  to  the  proper  intonation 
of  the  voice.  As  a  particular  instance  of  this  kind,  see  No.  615,  616, 
and  618. 

9* 


102 


II^TRODJJCTORY   LESSONS. 


call  this  {man  your)  friend,  that  {man  your)  brother;  — 
friends  and  brothers  all  {men  loill  be  to  you)  {or  you  may  call 
all  men  your  friends  and  brothers.) 

623.  I  once  saw  a  poor  fellow  {who  was  both)  keen  and 
clever,  witty  and  wise;  —  he  paid  a  man  a  visit,  and  no  one 
noticed  him,  and  no  one  ever  gave  him  a  welcome.  {It  is) 
Strange,  cried  I ;  whence  is  it  {that  this  man  is  so  much  neg- 
lected?) He  walked  on  this  side  {of  the  room,)  and  then  on 
that  {side  of  the  room ;  *)  he  tried  to  introduce  a  social  chat ; 
now  here,  now  there,  in  vain  he  tried  {to  introduce  a  social 
chat.)  Some  {persons,  lohen  he  spoke  to  them)  formally  and 
freezingly  replied  {to  him;)  and  some  {persons  made  him  no 
proper  answer,  but)  said  by  their  silence,  {you  would)  better 
stay  at  home  {than  come  here,  ivhere  you  are  not  wanted.) 

624.  A  rich  man  burst  the  door.  {A  man  who  was) 
As  CrcEsus  rich.  I'm  sure  he  could  not  pride  himself  upon 
his  wit ;  and  as  to  wisdom,  he  had  none  of  it.  He  had 
what's  better;  he  had  wealth.  What  a  confusion  {there  was 
when  he  entered  the  room!)  All  {who  are  in  the  room)  stand 
up  erect  —  These  t  {persons  in  this  part  of  the  room)  crowd 
around  to  ask  him  of  his  health ;  {and)  these  {persons  in 
another  part  of  the  room)  arrange  a  sofa  or  a  chair,  and 
these  {persons)  conduct  him  there.  {Some  said  to  him,) 
Allow  me,  sir,  the  honor  {of  handing  you  a  chair,  or  of 
conducting  you  to  it.)  Then  {they  each  made)  a  bow  down 
to  the  earth.  Is't  possible  to  show  meet  gratitude  for  such 
kind  condescension?! 


*  This  example  shows  very  clearly  how  the  proper  intonation  of  the  voice  is 
intimated  by  supplying  the  ellipses,  although  the  sense  is  sufficiently  clear  as 
the  sentence  is  expressed, 

t  It  may  here  be  observed,  that  a  pause  should  be  made  in  every  elliptical 
sentence  long  enough  to  pronounce,  or  rather  to  think  over,  the  words  which 
arc  omiUed.  The  extract  above  affords  a  clear  illustration  of  this  remark. 
See  the  directions,  at  the  beginning  of  this  lesson. 

X  It  may  perhaps  be  thought  that  some  ellipses  are  unnecessaril}'  supplied 
m  the  preceding  sentences  ;  but  the  practical  teacher  will  readily  allow  that  a 
ourrect  analysis  is  indispensable  to  the  correct  reading  of  a  sentence,  and  that 
liie  facilities  afforded  to  a  child  in  )[as  Jirst  attempts,  cannot  be  too  great.  It 
will  be  borne  in  mind  that  tliis  book  is  designed  for  very  young,  as  well  as  for 
more  advanced  pupils. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  103 

LESSON    XXX. 

ANTITHESIS. 

The  word  Antithesis  means  opposition  or  contrast.  In  all 
sentences  in  which  an  emphatic  word  occurs,  there  is  an  an- 
tithesis expressed  or  understood ;  and  it  is  necessary  tobc  able 
to  distinguish  the  words  which  form  the  antithesis,  or  which 
arc  contrasted,  in  order  to  ascertain  which  word  should  be 
emp/utsized.  Thus,  in  the  sentence  given  in  the  introduction 
to  the  23c?  Icssoji  —  ^^  Shall  you  ride  to-town  to-day  V^  — 
if  the  answer  be,  **  No,  I  shall  walk^^  there  is  an  antithesis,  or 
contrast,  in  the  words  ride  and  walk,  which  shoics  that  ride 
is  the  emphatic  word.  Again,  if  the  answer  be,  "  No,  I  shall 
ride  into  the  country,"  the  antithesis  is  in  the  words  town  and 
country,  which  shows  that  the  word  town  is  the  cinphatic 
word.  Once  more,  if  the  answer  be,  *'  No,  but  I  shall  go 
to-morrow,"  the  antithesis  is  in  the  toords  to-day  and  to-mor- 
row, which  shows  that  the  word  to-day  is  to  be  emphasized. 

[It  is  thus  seen,  that  it  is  necessary  that  the  pupil  should  study  out 
the  meaning  of  a  sentence,  and  be  able  to  forui  tiie  antithesis  upon 
which  the  emphatic  words  depend,  in  order  to  read  it  correctly  and 
expressively.  This  exercise  will  ol'ten  require  a  degree  of  judgment 
and  discrimination  not  to  be  expected  in  a  child,  until  the  assistance  of 
the  teacher  comes  to  his  aid.  Indeed,  it  is  this  very  thing  which  con- 
stitutes the  whole  art  of  reading,  and  which  often  renders  it  a  subject 
of  deep  study  even  to  matured  minds.  It  is,  however,  a  subject  of 
such  paramount  importance,  that  it  must  not  be  overlooked  or  neg- 
lected even  in  the  lessons  of  very  young  pupils.  The  assistance  af- 
forded the  pupil  in  this  lesson,  will  lead  his  mind,  it  is  thoufrht,  to  a 
correct  understanding  of  the  subject,  and  enable  him  to  apply  his 
powers  successfully  to  the  analysis  of  other  sentences,  in  which  no 
aid  IS  furnished  for  him.*] 

*  The  great  importance  of  a  correot  understan<iing'  of  this  principle  will  be 
seen  in  llio  following  pa.ssages  from  holy  writ,  which  are  frequently  read  from 
ihc  sacred  liesk  as  follows  :  — 

"  As  much  as  lielh  in  yoii,  live  peaceably  with  all  RIEN."  Now,  if  the  em- 
phasis be  thus  placed  on  the  wora  men,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  apostle  would 
nnply  that  it  is  a  duty  to  live  peaceably  with  vien  only,  but  that  with  women 
aud  children  we  may  live  in  a  diflerent  manner.  But  by  placing  the  emphasis 
on  ll»e  word  all,  the  inconsistency  is  removed  ;  thus, 

"  As  much  as  lieth  in  you,  live  peaceably  with  AlJ-i  men." 

Again,  in  the  fourth  commandment,  if  the  eniyiliajiis  be  put  on  the  word  day 
Bs  many  read  it,  thus,  "  Remember  that  thou  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  DAY," 
it  would  seem  that  the  jii<;lit  might  be  differently  occupied.     The  command- 


104  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

In  this  lesson  the  emphatic  words  which  form  the  antithesis 
are  printed  in  capitals,  and  the  member  of  the  antithesis 
which  is  understood  is  supplied  in  Italic  letters  between 
crotchets.  The  pupil  will  first  read  the  icholc  jjassage,  and 
then  read  if  with  the  omission  of  the  part  in  crotchets. 

625.  Mercury,  Charon's  boat  is  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water,  {^and  as  there  will  be  time  enough  before  he  gets  over  to 
THIS  side)  allow  me,  before  it  returns,  to  have  some  conver- 
sation with  the  North  American  savage,  whom  you  brought 
hither  at  the  same  time  that  you  conducted  me  to  the  shades. 

626.  Why  judge  you  then  so  hardly  of  the  dead? 

(I judge  so  hardly  of  the  dead.,  not  for  any  thing  that 
he  has  done,  but)  For  what  he  left  undone. 

627.  This  man  of  half  a  million  {was  not  destitute  of 
them,  but  he)  had  all  these  public  virtues  that  you  praise. 

628.  The  darts  of  anguish  {inay  strike,  but  they)  fix 
not  where  the  seat  of  suffering  hath  been  thoroughly  fortified 
by  acquiescence  in  the  will  supreme,  {not  only  for  a  short 
PERIOD,  but)  for  TIME  and  for  eternity. 

629.  Hereditary  bondmen !  Know  ye  not,  who  would 
be  free  {must  not  depend  upon  the  assistance  of  others,  but) 
themselves  must  strike  the  blow  1  By  their  right  arm, 
{not  by  the  right  arm  of  others)  the  conquest  must  be 
wrought. 

630.  Where'er  we  tread  {it  is  not  a  common  spot,  but) 
'tis  haunted,  holy  ground. 

631.  Authors  of  modern  date  are  {not  so  poor  as  they 
formerly  were,  but  they  are)  wealthy  fellows.  {It  is  not 
for  the  benefit  of  his  assistance)  'Tis  but  to  snip  his  locks 
they  follow  now  the  golden-haired  Apollo. 

ment  undoubtedly  should  be  read,  "  Remember  that  thou  keep  holy  the  SAB- 
BATH day. 

The  following'  passaofe  was  read  from  the  sacred  desk  by  one  of  the  most 
correct  readers  of  the  day,  in  the  hearing  of  the  author  of  this  volume,  three 
times,  with  a  false  emphasis  on  the  word  men ;  thus, 

"  O  that  MEN  would  therefore  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness,  and  de- 
clare the  wonders  that  he  doeth  for  the  children  of  men." 

This  reading  gives  rise  to  the  question  whether  women  and  children,  and 
even  ang'els,  &.c.,  should  not  praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness.  The  emphasis 
undoubtedly  should  be  placed  on  the  word  praise;  tlius,  '' O  that  men  would 
therefore  PRAISE  the  Lord  for  his  goodness,  and  declare  the  WONDERS 
that  he  doeth  for  the  children  of  men." 

This  principle  of  antithesis  must  be  carefully  studied  by  all  who  aim  at  cor- 
rect reading.  The  difference  in  style  which  characterizes  the  most  eminent 
speakers  and  readers  is  much  affected  by  their  peculiar  understanding  of  the 
meauing  of  an  author,  and  of  consequence  the  manner  in  which  they  men- 
tally supply  the  ellipsis  forming  the  antithesis. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 


105 


632.  Yet  none  but  you  by  name  the  guilty  lasn ;  {others 
lash  them  in  a  differp:nt  manner.) 

633.  It  is  often  said  by  inconsiderate  men,  that  time  {not 
inclination)  is  wanted  for  the  duties  of  religion. 

634.  My  friends  !  {do  not  he  hasty,  hut)  be  cautious 
how  ye  treat  the  subject  upon  which  we  meet. 

635.  Misses  !  the  tale  that  I  relate  {is  not  intended  for 
your  DIVERSION  alone^  hut  it)  seems  to  carry  this  lesson  : 
Choose  not  alone  a  proper  mate,  but  proper  time  to  marry. 

636.  As  much  as  lieth  in  you,  live  peaceably  with  all 
MEN,  {hut  not  with  all  women.) 

637.  You  did  not  read  that  last  sentence  correctly;  for 
by  emphasizing  the  word  men,  you  made  it  appear  as  if  the 
apostle  meant  that  you  might  quarrel  with  women  and  chil- 
dren, (if  you  would  live  peaccahly  with  men.)  Now,  his 
meaning  is,  that  you  should  live  peaceably  with  all  men, 
{not  icith  your  friends  alone,  hut  ivlth  all  mankind.) 

Therefore  you  should  read  it  thus:  As  much  as  lieth  in 
you,  live  peaceably  with  ALL  men. 

[^Sonietimes  both  the  words  which  constitute  the  antithesis 
are  expressed,  as  in  the  following  sentence. '\ 

638.  It  is  from  untamed  passions,  not  from  wild  beasts, 
that  the  greatest  evils  arise  to  human  society. 

639.  By  wisdom,  by  art,  by  the  united  strength  of  a  civil 
community,  men  have  been  enabled  to  subdue  {not  only  one 
single  lion,  hear,  or  serpentybut)  the  whole  race  of  lions, 
bears,  and  serpents. 


LESSON    XXXI 

ENUMERATION. 


WJien  a  number  of  particulars  are  mentioned  in  a  sentence^ 
it  is  called  an  Enumeration. 

In  many  senttmces  of  this  kind,  it  is  proper  to  use  the  fall- 
ing inflection  of  the  voice  at  each  of  the  subjects  of  the  enu- 
meration, except  the  last  but  one,  ivhich  should  he  read  with 
the   rising  inflection.      The  folloioing  sentences  are    of  this 


106  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

kind.  In  order  to  assist  the  pupil,  the  acnte  and  grave  ac- 
cents  are  used  to  designate  the  injlections  of  the  voice,  accord- 
ing  to  the  principles  stated  in  Lesson  22,  page  70. 

640.  But  who  the  melodies  of  morn  can  tell  1  —  The  wild 
brook  babbling  down  the  mountain's  side;  the  lowing  herd; 
the  sheepfold's  simple  bell ;  the  pipe  of  early  shepherd,  dim 
descried  in  the  lone  valley ;  echoing  far  and  wide,  the  clam- 
orous horn  along  the  cliffs  above ;  the  hollow  murmur  of 
the  ocean  tide;  the  hum  of  bees;  the  linnet's  lay  of  love; 
and  the  full  choir  *  that  wakes  the  universal  grove. 

641.  Oh,  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store  of 
charms  that  Nature  to  her  votary  yields !  The  warbling 
woodland,  the  resounding  shore,  the  pomp  of  groves,  the 
garniture  of  fields;  all  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gilds, 
and  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even ;  all  that  the  moun- 
tain's sheltering  bosom  shields,  and  all  the  dread  magnifi- 
cence of  heaven,  —  oh,  how  canst  thou  renounce,  and  hope 
to  be  forgiven  ? 

642.  The  coffin  was  let  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  grave, 
the  planks  were  removed  from  the  heaped  up  brink,  the  first 
rattling  clods  had  struck  their  knell,  the  quick  shovelling  was 
over,  and  the  long,  broad,  skilfully-cut  pieces  of  turf  were 
aptly  joined  together,  and  trimly  laid  by  the  beating  spade,  so 
that  the  newest  mound  in  the  churchyard  was  scarcely  dis- 
tinguishable from  those  that  were  grown  over  by  the  undis- 
turbed grass  and  daisies  of  a  luxuriant  spring. 

643.  The  poor  child  of  nature  knew  not  the  God  of  reve- 
lation, but  the  God  of  the  universe  he  acknowledged  in  every 
thing  around  him.  He  beheld  him  in  the  star  that  sank  in 
beauty  behind  his  lonely  dwelling;  in  the  sacred  orb  that 
flamed  on  him  from  his  midway  throne  ;  in  the  flower  that 
snapped  in  the  morning  breeze;  in  the  lofty  pine,  that  defied 
a  thousand  whirlwinds;  in  the  timid  warbler,  that  never  left 
its  native  grove ;  in  the  fearless  eagle,  whose  untired  pinion 
was  wet  in  cloiids ;  in  the  worm  that  crawled  at  his  foot ;  and 
in  his  own  matchless  form,  glowing  with  a  spark  of  that  light, 
to  whose  mysterious  source  he  bent  in  humble,  though  blind 
adoration. 

644.  Our  lives,  says  Seneca,  are  spent  either  in  doing 
nothing  at  all,  or  in  doing  nothing  to  the  purpose,  or  in 
doing  nothing  that  we  ought  to  do. 

*  Pronounced  quire. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  107 

C45.  It  was  necessary  for  the  world  that  arts  should  be  in- 
vented and  improved,  books  written  and  transmitted  to  pos- 
terity, nations  conquered  and  civilized. 

G46.  All  other  arts  of  perpetuating  our  ideas,  except  wri- 
ting or  printing,  continue  but  a  short  time.  Statues  can  last 
but  a  few  thousands  of  years,  edifices  fewer,  and  colors  still 
fewer  than  edifices. 

047.  Life  consists,  not  of  a  series  of  illustrious  actions,  or 
elegant  enjoyments;  the  greater  part  of  our  time  passes  in 
compliance  with  necessities,  in  the  performance  of  daily 
duties,  in  the  removal  of  small  inconveniences,  in  the  pro- 
curement of  petty  pleasures. 

648.  Though  we  seem  grieved  at  the  shortness  of  life  in 
general,  we  are  constantly  wishing  every  period  of  it  at  an 
end.  The  minor  longs  to  be  of  age,  then  to  be  a  man  of 
business,  then  to  make  up  an  estate,  then  to  arrive  at  honors, 
then  to  retire. 

649.  The  devout  man  does  not  only  believe,  but  feels 
there  is  a  Deity ;  he  has  actual  sensations  of  him ;  his  ex- 
perience concurs  with  his  reason  ;  he  sees  him  more  in  all  his 
intercourse  with  him ;  and  even  in  this  life  almost  loses  his 
faith  in  conviction. 

650.  Now  the  works  of  the  flesh  are  manifest,  which  are 
these ;  adultery,  fornication,  uncleanness,  lasciviousness, 
idolatry,  witchcraft,  hatred,  variance,  emulations,  wrath, 
strife,  seditions,  heresies,  envyings,  murders,  drunkenness, 
revellings,  and  such  like. 

651.  But  the  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  love,  joy,  peace,  long- 
suffering,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith,  meekness,  temperance. 

652.  The  ill-natured  man,  though  but  of  equal  parts  with 
the  good-natured  man,  gives  himself  a  large  field  to  expatiate 
in  ;  he  exposes  those  failings  in  human  nature  over  which  the 
other  would  cast  a  veil,  laughs  at  vices  which  the  other 
either  excuses  or  conceals,  falls  indifferently  on  friends  or 
enemies,  exposes  the  person  who  has  obliged  him,  and,  in 
ihort,  sticks  at  nothing  that  may  establish  his  character  of 
a  wit. 

653.  What  can  interrupt  the  content  of  the  fair  sex,  upon 
whom  one  age  has  labored  after  another  to  confer  honors, 
and  accumulate  immunities?  Those  to  whom  rudeness  is 
mfamy,  and  insult  is  cowardice?  Whose  eye  commands  the 
brave,  and  whose  smile  softens  the  severe?  Whom  the 
sailor  travels  to  adorn,  the  soldier  bleeds  to  delend,  and  the 
poet  wears  out  life  to  celebrate ;  who  claim  tribute  froni 


108  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

every  art  and  science,  and  for  whom,  all  who  approach  them 
endeavor  to  multiply  delights,  without  requiring  from  them 
any  return  but  willingness  to  be  pleased. 

654.  Nature  has  laid  out  all  her  art  in  beautifying  the 
face;  she  has  touched  it  with  vermilion;  made  it  the  seat  of 
smiles  and  blushes;  lighted  it  up  and  enlivened  it  with  the 
brightness  of  the  eyes ;  hung  it  on  each  side  with  curious  or- 
gans of  sense;  given  it  airs  and  graces  that  cannot  be  de- 
scribed, and  surrounded  it  with  such  a  flowing  shade  of  hair, 
as  sets  all  its  beauties  in  the  most  agreeable  liorht. 

655.  Should  the  greater  part  of  the  people  sit  down  and 
draw  up  a  particular  account  of  their  time,  what  a  shameful 
bill  would  it  be !  So  much  in  eating,  and  drinking,  and 
sleeping,  beyond  what  nature  requires;  so  much  in  revelling 
and  wantonness ;  so  much  for  the  recovery  of  the  last  night's 
intemperance ;  so  much  in  gaming,  plays,  and  masquerades ; 
so  much  in  paying  and  receiving  formal  and  impertinent 
visits;  so  much  in  idle  and  foolish  prating,  in  censuring  and 
reviling  our  neighbors;  so  much  in  dressing  out  our  bodies 
and  talking  of  fashions;  and  so  much  wasted  and  lost  in 
doing  nothing  at  all. 

656.  They,  through  faith,  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought 
righteousness,  obtained  promises,  stopped  the  mouth  of  lions, 
quenched  the  violence  of  fire,  escaped  the  edge  of  the 
sword,  out  of  weakness  were  made  strong,  waxed  valiant  in 
fight,  turned  to  flight  the  armies  of  the  aliens. 

657.  I  conjure  you  by  that  which  you  profess,  (howe'er 
you  came  to  know  it,)  answer  me.  Though  you  untie  the 
winds,  and  let  them  fight  against  the  churches ;  though  the 
yesty  waves  confound  and  swallow  navigation  up ;  though 
bladed  corn  be  lodged,  and  trees  blown  down ;  though  castles 
topple  on  their  warders'  heads ;  though  palaces  and  pyramids 
do  slope  their  heads  to  their  foundations ;  though  the  treasure 
of  nature's  germins  tumble  altogether,  even  till  destruction 
sicken,  answer  me  to  what  I  ask  you. 

[Sometimes  the  falling  inflection  is  used  at  each  particular 
in  the  enumeration  except  the  lasty  as  in  the  folloioing 
sentences.'^ 

658.  To  advise  the  ignorant,  relieve  the  needy,  comfort 
the  afflicted,  are  duties  that  fall  in  our  way  almost  every  day 
in  our  lives. 

659.  The  miser  is  more  industrious  than  the  saint.     The 


TNTRODTJCTORY   LESSONS.  109 

pains  of  getting,  the  fear  of  losing,  and  the  inability  of  enjoy- 
ing his  wealth,  have  been  the  mark  of  satire  in  all  ages. 

660.  When  ambition  palls  in  one  way,  interest  another, 
inclination  a  third,  and  perhaps  reason  contrary  to  all,  a  man 
is  likely  to  pass  his  time  but  ill,  who  has  so  many  different 
parties  to  please. 

661.  As  the  genius  of  Milton  was  wonderfully  turned  to 
the  sublime,  his  subject  is  the  noblest  that  could  have  entered 
into  the  thoughts  of  man.  Every  thing  that  is  truly  great 
and  astonishing  has  a  place  in  it.  The  whole  system  of  the 
intellectual  world,  the  chaos  and  the  creation,  heaven,  earth, 
and  hell,  enter  into  the  constitution  of  his  poem. 

662.  Labor,  or  exercise,  ferments  the  hiimors,  casts  them 
into  their  proper  channels,  throws  off  redundancies,  and 
helps  nature  in  those  secret  distributrons,  without  which,  the 
body  cannot  subsist  in  its  vigor,  nor  the  soul  act  with  cheer- 
fulness. 


LESSON   XXXII. 

IRONY. 

Irony  consists  in  such  expressions  as  are  intended  to  con- 
vey a  meaning  directly  opposite  to  what  the  words  imply. 
Thus,  when  ice  say  of  a  boy  who  never  gets  his  lesson^  that  he 
is  an  admirable  scholar,  this  is  called  Irony. 

The  word  or  words  which  are  ironical,  are  generally  to  be 
emphasized,  sometimes  with  the  circumfiex,  and  sometimes  icith 
the  other  accents.  In  the  following  sentences  the  ironical  parts 
are  printed  in  Italic  letters,  and  the  pupil  will  manage  his 
voice  in  pronouncing  the  accented  icords,  according  to  the 
principles  explained  in  Lesson  22,  page  69. 

663.  They  will  give  enlightened  freedom  to  our  viinds, 
who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice,  and  pride. 

664.  That  lulled  them  as  the  north  wind  does  the  sea. 

665.  "  This  is  well  got  up  for  a  closing  scene, '^  said  Fer- 
gus, smiling  disdainfully  upon  the  apparatus  of  terror. 

666.  Your  consul  is  merciful:  for  this  all  thanks.  —  lie 
DARES  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline. 

667.  Surely  in  this  age  of  invention,  something  may  be 

10 


110  mTROBUCTORY    LESSONS. 

Struck  out  to  obviate  the  necessity  (if  such  necessity  exists) 
of  so  tasking  —  degrading  the  human  intellect.  Whi/  should 
not  a  sort  of  mute  barrel  organ  he  constructed^  on  the  plan 
of  those  that  play  sets  of  tunes  and  country  dances,  to  indite 
a  catalogue  of  polite  epistles,  calculated  for  all  the  ceremo- 
nious observances  of  good  breeding  ?  O  the  unspeakable 
relief  (could  such  a  machine  be  invented)  of  having  only  to 
grind  an  answer  to  one  of  one's  dear  five  hundred  friends. 

668.  Or  suppose  there  were  to  be  an  epistolary  steam- 
engine  —  Ay,  that's  the  thing  —  Steam  does  every  thing  now- 
a-da.ys.  Dear  Mr.  Brunei,  set  about  it,  I  beseech  you,  and 
achieve  the  most  glorious  of  your  undertakings.  The  block 
machine  at  Portsmouth  would  be  nothing  to  it.  That  spares 
manual  labor  —  this   would   relieve   mental  drudgery,   and 

thousands  yet  unborn But  hold  1     I  am  not  so  sure  that 

the  female  sex  in  general  may  quite  enter  into  my  views  of 
the  subject. 

669.  And  it  came  to  pass  at  noon  that^  Elijah  mocked 
them,  and  said,  "  Cry  aloud,  for  he  is  a  God:  —  either  he  is 
talking,  or  he  is  pursuing,  or  he  is  in  a  journey ^  or  perad- 
venture  he  sleepeth  and  must  be  awaked. 

670.  We  have  much  reason  to  believe  the  modest  man 
would  not  ask  him  for  his  debt,  where  he  pursues  his  life. 

671.  O  terrible  war !  in  which  this  band  of  profligates 
are  to  march  under  Catiline.  Draw  out  all  your  garrisons 
against  this  formidable  body ! 

672.  But  it  is  foolish  in  us  to  compare  Drusus  Africanus 
and  ourselves  with  Clodius ;  all  our  other  calamities  were 
tolerable  ;  but  no  one  can  patiently  bear  the  death  of  Clodius. 

673.  Do  you  think  yourself  as  learned,  or  as  smart  a  boy 
as  Charles  ?  Has  he  not  learned  the  whole  of  the^rs^  page 
in  his  book?  And  did  he  not  learn  three  lines  in  two  hours? 
Could  you  do  as  much  as  that  1 


LESSON    XXXIII. 

ANALOGY. 

The  word  Analogy  means  resemblance ;  and  it  is  taken  as 
the  title  of  this  lesson,  to  represent  the  principle  stated  in  the 
preface  of  this  book,  founded  on   the  faculty  of  imitation. 


INTRODTTCTORY   LESSONS. 


Ill 


In  connexion  with  some  colloquial  sentence^  another  of  less 
obvious  import  is  given,  requiring  the  same  modulations  and 
injiections  of  the  voice.  The  sentences  are  printed  side  by 
side,  and  separated  by  a  line.  The  pupil  tcill  read  both 
sentences  in  the  same  manner,  toith  the  same  modulation,  tone, 
emphasis,  and  expression.  The  simple  or  colloquial  sentence 
is  called  the  model,  and  the  more  difficult  one  the  analogical 
sentence. 


MODELS. 

G74.  Why  did  you  drive 
your  hoop  so  fast  to-day? 

675.  Go  tell  your  father 
how  naughty  you  have  been, 
and  ask  your  mother  to  re- 
prove you. 

676.  Thomas  Smith,  go 
away  :  take  your  things  and 
run.  Why  do  you  bring 
such  silly  things  here?  Do 
you  think  I  want  them,  you 
foolish  boy?  They  are  good 
for  nothing;  they  are  not 
worth  having. 

677.  I  would  rather  be  a 
kitten,  and  cry  mew,  than  one 
of  those  same  prosing  letter- 
mongers. 

678.  Do  you  pretend  to 
sit  as  high  in  school  as  An- 
thony 1  Did  you  read  as  cor- 
rectly, speak  as  loudly,  or  be- 
have as  well  as  he?* 

679.  Are  you  the  boy  of 
whose  good  conduct  I  have 
heard  so  much  ? 

680.  Have  you  not  mis- 
employed  your  time,  wasted 


ANALOGICAL   SENTENCES. 

674.  Why  looks  your  Grace 
so  heavily  to-day? 

675.  Go  show  your  slaves 
how  choleric  you  are,  and  bid 
your  bondmen  tremble. 

676.  Son  of  night,  retire  : 
call  thy  winds  and  fly.  Why 
dost  thou  come  to  my  pres- 
ence with  thy  shadowy  arms? 
Do  I  fgar  thy  gloomy  form, 
dismal  spirit  of  Loda?  Weak 
is  thy  shield  of  clouds : 
feeble  is  that  meteor  thy 
sword. 

677.  I'd  rather  be  a  dog, 
and  bay  the  moon,  than  such 
a  Roman. 

678.  Do  you  pretend  to 
sit  as  high  on  Olympus  as 
Hercules  ?  Did  you  kill  the 
Nemre'an  lion,  the  Eryman- 
thian  boar,  the  Lernean  ser- 
pent, or  Stymphalian  birds? 

679.  Art  thou  the  Thra- 
cian  robber,  of  whose  ex- 
ploits I  have  heard  so  much  ? 

680.  Hast  thou  not  set  at 
defiance  my  authority,  violated 


*  Some  of  the  sentences  in  lliis  lesson  may  be  found  in  previous  parts  of  the 
nook.     See  page  33,  iVo.  128,  &,c. 


112 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


your  talents,  and  passed  your 
life  in  idleness  and  vice? 


681.  Who  is  that  standing 
up  in  his  place,  with  his  hat 
on,  and  his  books  under  his 
arm? 

682.  Did  he  recite  his 
lesson  correctly,  read  audi- 
bly, and  appear  to  under- 
stand what  he  read? 

683.  Is  that  a  map  which 
you  have  before  you,  with 
the  leaves   blotted   with  ink? 


684.  Henry  was  careless, 
thoughtless,  heedless,  and 
inattentive. 

685.  Oh,  how  can  you  de- 
stroy those  beautiful  things 
which  your  father  procured 
for  you!  —  that  beautiful  top, 
—  those  polished  marbles, — 
that  excellent  ball,  —  and  that 
beautifully  painted  kite,  —  oh, 
how  can  you  destroy  them, 
and  expect  that  he  will  buy 
you  new  ones  ?  * 


the  public  peace,  and  passed 
thy  life  in  injuring  the  persona 
and  properties  of  thy  fellow- 
subjects? 

681.  Whom  are  they  ush- 
ering from  the  world  with 
all  this  pageantry  and  long 
parade  of  death? 

682.  Was  his  wealth  stored 
fraudfully,  the  spoil  of  orphans 
wronged,  and  widows  who 
have  none  to  plead  their 
rights? 

683.  Is  this  a  dagger  which 
I  see  before  me,  the  handle 
towards  my  hand  ? 

683.  Will  you  say  that 
your  time  is  your  own,  and 
that  you  have  a  right  to  em- 
ploy it  in  the  manner  you 
please  ? 

684.  This  is  partial,  un- 
just, uncharitable,  iniqui- 
tous. 

685.  Oh,  how  canst  thou 
renounce  the  boundless  store 
of  charms  that  Nature  to 
her  votary  yields  !  —  the  war- 
bling woodland,  the  resound- 
ing shore,  the  pomp  of  groves, 
the  garniture  of  fields ;  all 
that  the  genial  ray  of  morn- 
ing gilds,  and  all  that  echoes 
to  the  song  of  even,  all  that 
the  mountain's  sheltering  bo- 
som shields,  and  all  the  dread 
magnificence  of  heaven, — oh, 
how  canst  thou  renounce,  and 
hope  to  be  forgiven  ? 


*  The  principle  involved  in  this  lesson  will  be  found  by  the  teacher  a  useful 
auxiliary  m  leadiiio;  the  pupil  to  the  correct  enunciation  of  diflficult  sentences. 
It  is  deemed  usnecessary  to  extend  the  lesson  by  numerous  models,  or  examples 
of  analog-y.  The  teacher  will  find  it  easy  to  form  models  for  tlie  pupil  in  his 
exercises  in  reading  5  and  if  the  experience  of  the  author  may  be  adduced  in 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS,  113 

LESSON    XXXIV. 

THE    SLUR.* 

The  Slur  is  the  name  given  to  such  a  management  of  the 
voice  as  is  opposed  to  emphasis.  When  a  word  or  part  of  a 
sentence  is  emphasized,  it  is  to  be  pronounced  with  a  louder 
and  more  forcible  effort  of  the  voice,  and  it  is  frequently  to 
be  prolonged.  But  when  a  sentence  or  part  of  a  sentence  is 
SLURRED,  it  is  to  be  read  like  a  parenthesis, "^  in  an  altered 
tone  of  voice,  more  rapidly,  and  not  so  forcibly,  and  with  all 
the  words  pronounced  nearly  alike.\ 

The  parts  which  are  to  be  slurred  in  this  lesson  are  printed 
in  Italic  letters,  and  the  words  on  which  emphatic  force  is  to 
be  bestowed  are  printed  in  capitals,  as  in  Lesson  24,  page  75. 

proof  of  the  ulilily  aiid  efficacy  of  the  principle,  he  has  lifUe  doubt  that  it  will 
DC  acknowledged  as  a  valuable  aid  in  teaching'  the  art  of  reading. 

*  The  following  remarks  upon  tlie  slur  were  communicated  to  the  author  by  a 
distinguished  teacher. 

"  In  order  to  communicate  clearly  and  forcibly  the  whole  signification  of  a 
passage,  it  must  be  subjected  to  a  rigid  analysis.  It  will  Uien  be  found,  that 
often  one  paramount  idea  pervades  llie  sentence,  although  it  may  be  associated 
with  incidental  statements,  and  qualified  in  every  possible  manner.  It  is  the 
province  of  the  reader,  by  appropriate  inflections  and  modulations  of  the  voice, 
to  communicate  to  the  listener  every  shade  of  meaning,  be  it  more  or  less  del- 
icate. The  primary  idea,  then,  will  require  a  forcible  utterance,  while  the  other 
portions  will  be  thrown  into  the  sliade.  For  want  of  a  better  name,  we  may 
designate  as  '  The  S/ur'  that  particular  element  in  elocution,  by  which  those 
parts  of  a  sentence  of  less  comparative  importance,  are  rendeied  less  impres- 
sive to  the  ear. 

«'  It  will  be  imderstood,  that  the  use  of  stress,  alone,  can  by  no  means  make  a 
reader ;  in<ieed,  it  is  certain  liiat  the  best  elocutionists  are  they  who  most 
adroitly  blend  emphasis  and  sliir.  The  presence  of  the  slur  generally  implies 
the  existence  of  emphasis ;  and  the  former  is  often  used  to  set  an  emphatic 
word  or  plirase  in  stronger  relief. 

"  A  slurred  passage  must  generaljy  be  read  in  a  lower  and  less  forcible 
tone  of  voice,  and  more  rapidly  tiian  the  context  j  and  this  element  (jiamely, 
the  slur)  must  be  employ^  in  cases  of  varentltesis,  contrast,  repetition,  or  ex- 
plaruttion,  where  the  sentence  is  of  small  comparative  importance  j  and  often 
where  qualijication  of  time,  place,  or  manner  is  made." 

\  See  page  48,  Lesson  16. 

t  On  the  management  of  the  slur,  much  of  the  beauty  and  propriety  of 
enunciation  depends  ;  especially  in  all  sentences  in  which  parentheses  abound. 
Ilow  much  soever  a  sentence  may  be  cumbered  with  explanatory  details,  or 
interrupted  and  obscured  by  parentheses  and  unimportant  adjuncts,  the  reader, 
by  a  proper  management  of  the  slur,  can  always  bring  forviard  the  most  im- 
portant particulars  into  a  strong  light,  and  throw  the  rest  into  shade;  thereby 
entirely  changing  the  character  of*  the  sentence,  and  making  it  appear  lucid 
strong,  and  expressive. 


114  TRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

QSQs  Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  me  more:  By 
Sinel's  death,  I  know  I  am  thane  of  Glamis;  but  how  of 
Cawdor?  The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives,  a  prosperous  gentle- 
man; and  to  be  King  stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  be- 
lief, no  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.  Say  from  WHENCE  ^ou 
oice  this  strange  intelligence;  —  or  WYiX  upon  this  blasted 
heath  you  stop  our  way  ivith  such  prophetic  greeting. 

687.  But  let  me  ask  by  WHAT  RIGHT  do  you  involve 
yourself  in  this  multiplicity  of  cares?  WHY  do  you  loeave 
around  you  this  web  of  occupation,  and  then  complain  that  you 
cannot  break  it  ? 

688.  And  when  the  prodigal  son  came  to  himself,  he  said, 
"  How  many  hired  servants  of  my  father's  have  bread  enough 
and  to  spare,  and  I  perish  with  hunger  !  I  will  arise  and  GO 
to  my  father;  and  will  say  unto  him,  *  Father,  I  have  sinned 
against  heaven  and  before  thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to 
be  called  thy  son  :  — make  me  as  one  of  thy  hired  servants.'  " 
And  he  arose,  and  was  coming  to  his  father;  —  but  while  he 
was  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him,  and  had  com- 
passion, and  ran,  and  fell  on  his  neck,  and  kissed  him.  And 
the  son  SAID  unto  him,  *'  Father,  I  have  sinned  against 
heaven  and  before  thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called 
thy  son."  * 

689.  When  therefore  the  Lord  knew  how  the  Pharisees 
had  heard  that  Jesus  made  and  baptized  more  disciples  than 
John,  though  Jesus  himself  baptized  not,  but  his  disciples,  he 
left  Judea,  and  departed  again  into  Galilee. 

690.  Search  the  Scriptures, /br  m  them  ye  think  ye  have 
eternal  life,  and  they  are  they  which  testify  of  me. 

691.  STRANGER,  if  thou  hast  learnt  a  truth  which 
needs  experience  more  than  reason,  that  the  world  is  full  of 
guilt  and  misery,  and  hast  known  enough  of  all  its  sorrows, 
crimes,  and  oares,  to  tire  thee  of  it,  —  enter  this  wild 
WOOD,  and  view  the  haunts  of  nature. 

692.  The  calm  shade  shall  bring  a  kindred  calm,  and 
the  sweet  breeze,  that  makes  the  green  leaves  dance,  shall  waft 
a  balm  to  thy  sick  heart. 

693.  The  massy  rocks  themselves,  the  old  and  ponderous 
trunks  of  prostrate  trees,  that  lead  from  knoll  to  knoll,  a 
causey  rude,  or  bridge,  the  sunken  brook,  and  their  dark  roots 


*  Tliis  passage  has  been  previously  related ;  and  all  similar  repetitions  are 
to  be  slurred,  unless  there  is  particular  rea«'on  for  emphasizing  them. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  115 

toith  all  their  earth  upon  them,  twisting  high,  breathe  fixed 

TRANQUILLITY. 

694.  The  rivulet  sends  forth  glad  sounds,  and  tripping 
o^er  its  bed  of  pebbly  sands,  or  leaping  doicn  the  rocks,  seems 
with  continuous  laughter  to  rejoice  in  its  own  being.* 

695.  Therefore  said  they  unto  him,  "  How  were  thine  eyes 
opened?"  lie  answered  and  said,  **  A  man  that  is  called 
Jesus  made  clay,  and  anointed  mine  eyes,  and  said  unto  me, 
*  Go  to  the  pool  of  Siloam  and  wash:'  and  I  went  and 
washed,  and  I  received  sight."  *#»**»*****  Then 
acrain  the  Pharisees  asked  him  how  he  had  received  his  sight. 
He  said  unto  THEM,  "  He  put  clay  upon  mine  eyes,  and  1 
washed,  and  do  see." 

696.  And  oft  he  traced  the  uplands,  to  survey,  when  o'er 
the  sky  advanced  the  kindling  dawn,  the  crimson  cloud, 
BLUE  main,  and  mountain  gray,  and  lake  dim  gleaming  on 
the  smoky  lawn;  —  far  to  the  west,  the  long,  long  vale  with- 
drawn, where  ttoilight  loves  to  linger  for  a  while;  and  now 
lie  faintly  kens  the  bounding  fawn,  and  villager  abroad  at 
early  toil.  Butlo!  the  sun  appears!  and  heaven,  earth, 
OCEAN,  SMILE. 

697.  O  God!  be  thou  a  God,  and  spare  while  yet  'tis 
time!  Renew  not  Adam's  fall :  —  Mankind  were  then  but 
twain;  but  they  are  numerous  now  as  are  the  waves,  and 
the  tremendous  rain,  whose  drops  shall  be  less  thick  than 
would  their  graves,  were  graves  permitted  to  the  sons  of 
Cain, 

698.  Mountains  interposed,  make  enemies  of  nations, 
who  had  else,  like  kindred  drops,  been  mingled  into  one. 

699.  No!  DEAR  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  heart's  just 
estimation  prized  above  all  price,  I  would  much  rather  b^ 
myself  the  SLAVE,  and  wear  the  bonds,  than  fasten  them 
on  him. 

700.  A  GREAT  CITY  —  situatccl  amidst  all  that  nature  could 
create  of  beauty  and  profusion,  or  art  collect  of  science  and 
magnificence,  —  the  growth  of  many  ages  —  the  scene  of 
splendor,  festivity ,  and  happiness —  in  one  moment  withered 
as  by  a  spell — its  palaces,  its  streets,  its  temples,  its  gardens 
glowing  with  eternal  spring,  and  its  inhabitants  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  life's  blessings,  obliterated  from  their  very  place 
in  creation,  not  by  war,  nor  famine,  or  disease,  nor  any  of  the 
natural  causes  of  destruction  to  which  earth  had  been  accus' 

*  See  note  on  page  145,  No.  780. 


116  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

tomed — hut  in  a  single  night,  as  if  by  magic,  and  amid  the 
confiagration,  as  it  vicrc,  of  nature  itself,  presented  a  subject 
on  which  the  wildest  imagination  might  grow  weary,  without 
even  equalling  the  grand  and  terrible  reality. 

701.  And  THOU,  O  silent  form,  alone  and  bare,  whom,  as 
I  lift  again  my  head,  boived  low  in  silent  adoration,  I  again 
behold,  and  to  thy  sufnmit  upward  from  thy  base  sweep  slowly, 
with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  AWAKE,  thou  MOUN- 
TAIN FORM. 

702.  Ye  stars!  which  are  the  poetry  of  heaven,  if  in  your 
bright  leaves  loe  would  read  the  fate  of  men  and  empires, — 
'tis  to  be  forgiven,  that,  in  our  aspirations  to  he  great,  our 
destinies  o'erleap  their  mortal  state,  and  claim  a  kindred 
with  you ;  for  ye  are  a  beauty  and  a  mystery,  and  create 
in  us  such  love  and  reverence  from  afar,  that  fortune, 
FAME,  power,  life,  have  named  themselves  a  star. 

703.  A  few  hours  more,  and  she  will  move  in  stately 
grandeur  on,  cleaving  her  path  majestic  through  the  flood, 
as  if  she  were  a  goddess  of  the  deep. 

704.  Falsely  luxurious,  will  not  man  awake,  and  spring- 
ing from  the  bed  of  sloth,  enjoy  the  cool,  the  fragrant,  and 
the  silent  hour,  to  meditation  due  and  sacred  song? 

705.  For  is  there  aught  in  sleep  can  charm  the  wise  ? 
To  lie  in  dead  oblivion,  losing  half  the  fleeting  moments  of 
too  short  a  life;  —  total  extinction  of  the  enlightened  soul! 
Or  else  to  feverish  vanity  alive,  wildered  and  tossing  through 
distempered  dreams  1 

706.  But  yonder  comes  the  powerful  KING  OF  DAY, 
rejoicing  in  the  east.  The  lessening  cloud,  the  kindling 
azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow  illumed  with  fluid  gold,  his 
near  approach  betoken  glad.  LO,  NOW,  APPARENT 
ALL,  aslant  the  dew-bright  earth  and  colored  air,  he  looks 
in  boundless  MAJESTY  abroad,  and  sheds  the  shining  day, 
that  burnished  plays  on  rocks,  and  hills,  and  towers,  and 
wandering  streams,  HIGH  GLEAMING  from  afar. 

707.  PRIME  CHEERER,  LIGHT!  of  all  material 
beings  FIRST  AND  BEST;  EFFLUX  DIVINE,  NA- 
TURE'S RESPLENDENT  ROBE!  without  whose  vesting 
beauty  all  loere  wrapt  in  unessential  gloom;  and  THOU, 
O  SUN!  SOUL  of  surrounding  WORLDS!  in  tvhom, 
best  seeyi,  shines  out  thy  Maker  —  may  I  sing  of  thee? 

70S.  'Tis  by  thy  secret,  strong,  attractive  force,  as  ivith 
a  chain  indissoluble  hound,  thy  system  rolls  entire ;  from  the 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  117 

far  bourn  of  utmost  Saturn,  wherling  wide  his  round  of  thirty 
years,  to  Mercury,  ichose  disk  can  scarce  be  caught  by  philo- 
sophic eye,  lost  in  the  near  effulgence  of  thy  blaze. 

709.  And  thus,  in  silent  icaiting,  stood  the  piles  of  stone 
and  piles  of  wood ;  TILL  DEATH,  who,  in  his  vast  affaii's, 
ne'er  puts  things  off — as  men  in  theirs  —  and  thus,  if  J  the 
truth  must  tell,  does  his  work  finally  and  well,  WINKED 
at  our  hero  as  he  passed,  **  Your  house  is  finished,  sir,  at 
last;  a  narrower  house  —  a  house  of  clay  —  your  palace 
for  another  day." 

710.  The  smoothness  of  flattery  cannot  now  avail  — 
cannot  SAVE  us  in  this  rugged  and  awjwl  crisis. 

711.  What  PROFIT  hath  a  man  of  all  his  labor,  which 
he  takcth  under  the  sun  ? 

712.  IS  there  any  thing  ichercof  it  may  be  said,  **  See,  this 
is  new  ?  "  The  thing  which  HAS  been,  it  is  that  which  shall 
be,  and  that  which  IS  done,  is  that  which  SHALL  be  done, 
and  there  is  no  NEW  thing  under  the  sun. 

713.  THOU,  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 
glasses  itself  in  tempests,  in  ALL  time,  calm  or  convulsed,  in 
breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm,  icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid 
clime  dark  heaving,  BOUNDLESS,  ENDLESS,  and  SUB- 
LIME—  the  image  of  Eternity  —  the  throne  of  the  Invisi- 
ble; even  from  out  thy  slime,  the  monsttrs  of  the  deep  are 
made;  each  zone  obeys  thee  —  thou  goest  forth,  DREAD, 
FATHOMLESS,  ALONE. 

714.  CENTRE  of  LiraiT  and  energy!  thy  way  is 
through  the  unknown  void  ;  thou  hast  thy  throne,  morning 
and  evening,  and  at  noon  of  day,  far  in  the  blue,  untended 
and  alone :  Ere  the  first  wakened  airs  of  earth  had  blown, 
ON  didst  thou  march,  triumphant  in  thy  light.  Then  didst 
thou  send  thy  glance,  2ohich  still  hath  flown  wide  through  the 
never-ending  worlds  of  night;  and  yet  thy  full  orb  burns  with 
fla.««h  unquenched  and  bright. 

715.  In  thee,  FIRST  LIGHT,  the  bounding  ocean  smiles, 
when  the  quick  winds  uprear  it  in  a  swell,  that  rolls  in  glit- 
tering green  around  the  isles,  where  ever-springing  fruits  and 
blossoms  dwell. 

716.  THINE  are  the  MOUNTAINS,  —  if^/frre  they 
purely  lift  snows  that  have  never  wasted,  in  a  sky  tvhich 
hath  no  stain ;  below  the  storm  may  drift  its  darkness,  and 
the  thunder-gust  roar  by;  —  ALOFT,  in  thy  eternal  smile, 
they  lie,  DAZZLING,  but  COLD;  — thy   farewell  glance 


118  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

looks  there,  and  when  below  thy  hues  of  beauty  die,  girt 
round  them  as  a  rosT/  belt^  they  bear  into  the  high,  dark 
vault,  a  brow  that  still  is  fair. 

717.  May  THE  LIKE  SERENITY,  in  such  dreadful 
circumstances,  and  a  DEATH  EQUALLY  GLORIOUS, 
be  the  lot  of  all  whom  TYRANNY,  of  whatever  denomina- 
tion or  description,  SHALL,  in  any  age,  or  in  any  country, 
CALL  to  expiate  their  virtues  on  the  scaffold. 

718.  Behold,  I  show  you  a  mystery;  We  shall  not  all 
sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be  changed,  in  a  MOMENT,  in  the 
TVVIxNKLING  of  an  EYE,  AT  the  LAST  TRUMP;  /or 
the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  be  raised  incorruptible, 
and  we  shall  be  changed.  For  this  corruptible  must  put  on 
INCORRUPTION,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality. 
So  when  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incorruption,  and 
this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality,  then  shall  be 
brought   to  pass    the    saying   that   is   written,   DEATH    is 

SWALLOWED    UP    IN    VICTORY. 

719.  O  WINTER !  ruler  of  the  inverted  year  ! 
thy  scattered  hair  with  sleet-like  ashes  filled,  thy  breath 
congealed  upon  thy  lips,  thy  cheeks  fringed  with  a  beard 
made  white  with  other  snoios  than  those  of  age,  thy  forehead 
wrapped  in  clouds,  a  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  thy  throne 
a  sliding  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels,  but  urged  by  storms 
along  its  slippery  way,  I  LOVE  THEE,  all  UNLOVELY 
as  thou  seem'st,  and  DREADED  as  thou  ART. 

720.  Lo  1  the  unlettered  hind,  loho  never  knew  to  raise 
his  mind  excursive  to  the  heights  of  abstract  contemplation, 
as  he  sits  on  the  green  hillock  by  the  hedge-row  side,  what 
time  the  insect  swarms  are  murmuring,  and  marks,  in  silent 
thought,  the  broken  clouds,  that  fringe  with  loveliest  hues 
the  evening  sky,  feels  in  his  soul  the  hand  of  nature  rouse 
the  thrill  of  gratitude  to  him  who  formed  the  goodly 
prospect ;  he  beholds  the  god  throned  in  the  west  ;  and 
his  reposing  ear  hears  sounds  angelic  in  the  fitful  breeze,  that 
floats  through  neighboring  copse  or  fairy  brake,  or  lingers, 
playful,  on  the  haunted  stream. 

721.  They  shall  hear  of  my  vengeance,  that  would 
scorn  to  listen  to  the  story  of  my  wrongs.  The  miserable 
Highland  drover,  bankrupt,  barefooted,  stripped  of  all, 
dishonored,  and  hunted  down,  because  the  avarice  of  others 
grasped  at  more  than  that  poor  all  could  pay,  shall  burst  on 
them  in  an  awful  change. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  119 

LESSON    XXXV. 

MEASURE    OF    SPEECH.* 


In  Lesson  10th,  page  IGth,  the  pupil  was  informed  that  a  pause  is 
Boinetimes  made  in  reading,  where  there  is  no  pause  in  tlie  book.  The 
pause  to  which  allusion  is  there  made,  is  rendered  necessary  to  allow 
the  reader  to  take  breath.  This  lesson  is  designed  to  explain  to  the 
pupil  another  sort  of  pause,  or  rather  interruption  of  the  voice,  caused 
by  the  peculiar  operation  of  the  organs  of  speech. 

Dr.  Rush,  in  his  work  "On  the  Human  Voice,"  has  remarked,  with 
regard  to  the  manner  in  which  children  learn  to  read,  that  "  the  close 
attention  whicli  their  ignorance  requires,  and  their  slowness  of  utter- 
ance, lead  them  to  lay  an  equal  stress  upon  every  syllable,  or  at  least 
upon  every  word.  This  habit  continues  a  long  time  after  the  eye  has 
acquired  a  facility  in  following  up  discourse,  and  in  some  cases  infects 
pronunciation  throughout  subsequent  life." 

The  object  of  this  lesson,  which  is  entitled  "  Measure  of  Speech,"  is 
twofold :  1st.  To  teach  the  pupil  so  to  manage  his  voice,  in  conformity 
with  the  natural  operation  of  the  organs  of  speech,  as  to  break  up  the 
monotonous,  or  ^'^ equal"  manner  of  reading  above  mentioned,  and  to 
introduce  such  an  agreeable  variety,  as  will  cause  peculiar  melody  of 
utterance;  and,  2dly.  To  enable  him  to  read  in  such  a  manner  that  he 
will  not  be  "  out  of  breathy"  and  consequently  to  exercise  his  voice 
witliout  fatigue. 

A  Measure  of  Speech  consists  of  an  accented  and  an 
unaccented  portion  of  sound,  produced  hy  one  effort  of  tht 
voice. 

In  pronouncing  an  accented  syllable,  the  voice  makes  an  effort, 
which  must  be  repeated,  if  the  next  syllable  is  also  an  accented  syl- 
lable. But  if  the  next  syllable  or  syllables  be  unaccented,  the  voice 
can  pronounce  them  all  with  a  single  effort.  Thus  the  words  spirt, 
spirit.^  spiritual^  or  spiritually,  may  each  be  pronounced  with  a  single 
effort  or  pulsation  of  the  voice. 


*  The  teacher  who  would  thoroughly  understand  the  subject  treated  iu  this 
lesson,  and  who  aims  al  excellence  in  the  art  of  reading,  is  referred  to  the 
very  valuable  and  scientific  work  of  Dr.  Rush,  of  Philadelphia,  entitled  the 
"  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Voice,"  or  to  Dr.  Barber's  Grammar  of  Elocution, 
a  work  founded  on  the  principles  advanced  by  Dr.  Rush.  Dr.  Barber,  whose 
opinion  on  the  subject  has  great  weight,  says,  "  In  Dr.  Rush's  work,  the  reader 
may  repair  to  a  fountain  al  once  deep  and  full."  In  another  place,  Dr.  Barber 
assures  "  every  public  speaker,  and  every  philosophical  actor,  that  he  will  fail 
in  his  duty  to  himself,  if  l)c  neglects  a  diligent  perusal  of  Dr.  Rush's  Philosophy 
of  the  Voice."  The  same  may  also  be  said  in  relation  to  Dr.  Barber's  own 
work.  From  the  works  of  both  these  gendemen,  the  author  has  derived  as- 
sistance in  the  preparation  of  these  Exercises. 


120  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

It  may  here  be  remarked,  that  it  is  not  material  whether  the  syl- 
lables belong  to  the  same  word.  The  voice  may  utter,  with  a  single 
effort,  several  syllables,  even  when  they  constitute  dijflerent  words. 
Thus  each  of  the  following  lines  may  be  pronounced  by  a  single  effort 
or  pulsation  of  the  voice  :  — 

Came  to  the  — 
When  he  was  in  — 
'Twas  at  the  — 
Does  to  the  — 
Oft  did  the — 
Utterable,  &c. 

But  when  two  accented  syllables  follow  one  another,  there  must  be  a 
distinct  effort  or  pulsation  of  the  voice  to  pronounce  each.  Thus  the 
words  /a/e,  hatc^  both  being  accented,  require  a  distinct  efibrt  or  pulsa- 
tion of  the  voice  for  the  pronunciation  of  each  ;  and  a  pause  must  be 
made  between  each,  long  enough  to  pronounce  an  unaccented  syllable. 
It  will  thus  be  seen,  that  the  two  syllables  fatal,  or  hating,  can  be  pro- 
nounced by  the  same  effort  that  is  required  to  pronounce  the  syllables 
fate  and  hate.  And  here  it  may  be  remarked  that,  while  an  accented 
syllable  requires  a  distinct  effort  or  pulsation  of  the  voice  in  pro- 
nouncing it,  an  unaccented  syllable  is  uttered  without  such  eftbrt. 
This  distinction  of  the  voice,  in  pronouncing  accented  and  unaccented 
syllables,  is  called  by  Dr.  Barber,  in  his  Grammar  of  Elocution,  the 
pulsative  and  the  remiss  action  of  the  voice. 

An  accented  syllahlcy  therefore,  is  uttered  by  the  pulsative  * 
action  of  the  voice. 

An  unaccented  syllable  is  uttered  by  the  remiss  *  action  of 
the  voice. 

A  perfect  measure  of  speech  consists  of  one  syllabic,  or  any 
number  of  syllables,  {not  exceeding  five,)  uttered  during  one 
pulsation  and  remission  of  the  voice. 

It  may  here  be  remarked,  that  a  single  syllable  may  constitute  a 
measure ;  for  if  it  be  extended  in  sound,  the  first  part  of  that  sound 
may  be  accented  or  heavy,  and  the  latter  unaccented  or  light.  But  a 
short  syllable  will  not  constitute  a  measure. 

More  than  one  syllable  cannot  be  uttered  during  the  pulsative  effort 
of  the  voice  ;  while  one,  two,  three,  and  even  four,  can  be  uttered 
during  the  remiss  action;  as  in  the  word  spiritually,  in  which  the 
first  syllable,  spir,  is  pronounced  by  the  pulsative,  and  the  syllables 
itually  by  the  remiss  action  of  the  voice. 


*  As  a  proper  understanding  of  these  terms  is  deemed  essential  to  a  clear 
comprehension  of  the  principle  on  which  this  lesson  is  founded,  the  teacher 
who  wishes  a  fuller  development  of  the  subject,  is  referred  to  Dr.  Barber's 
Grammar  of  Elocution  —  or  to  Dr.  Rush's  work,  already  mentioned,  on  the 
Philosophy  of  the  Human  Voice,  Section  49th,  entitled  "the  Rhythmus  of 
Speech." 


INTEODUCTOEY    LESSONS. 


121 


An  imperfect  measure  of  speech  consists  of  a  single  sylla- 
ble on  which  the  acute  accent  is  placed,  —  or  of  a  syllable  or 
syllables  tchich  are  unaccented. 

In  the  following  examples  for  reading,  the  lines  are  di- 
vided into  several  parts,  which  are  separated  by  a  mark  like 
this  I  called  a  bar,  and  the  parts  divided  by  the  bars  are  all 

PERFECT  or  IMPERFECT  MEASURES  OF  SPEECH. 

The  accented  sylhtbles,  or  those  which  require  the  pulsa- 
tive  effort  of  the  voice,  are  noted  by  a  star  *  under  them, 
and  the  unaccented  syllables,  or  those  which  require  the  re- 
miss action  of  the  voice,  have  hyphens  -  under  them. 

The  time  occupied  in  reading  each  portion  between  the 
bars  must  be  equal,  whether  the  bar  includes  a  perfect  or 
imperfect  measure  of  speech.  A  bar  may  contain  an  imper- 
fect measure;  the  accented  or  the  unaccented  portions  of  the 
measure  being  omitted.  In  that  case,  a  mark  like  this  "i  is 
inserted,  to  indicate  a  rest  or  stop  long  enough  to  pronounce 
the  portion  which  is  omitted.* 

[In  reading  the  following  passages,  the  pupil  will  recollect 
that  all  the  syllables  which  have  a  star  under  them  are  ac' 
ccnted — that  all  which  have  the  hyphen  under  them  are 
unaccented — and  that  all  the  marks  like  this  ^  indicate  that 
a  pause  is  to  be  made  long  enough  to  pronounce  an  unaccented 
syllable.'] 

722. 


^  In  the 


second 

* 


century 


era 

♦  _ 


^  the 


empire  of  I  Rome 


^  of  the       Christian 

* 


compre- 


hended the 


fairest 


part  of  the 


earth 


^  and  the 


most  ^ 


civil- 


ized     portion  of  man-      kind. 


*  Dr.  Rush,  in  the  very  vahiable  work  already  mentioned,  has  ihe  following; 
remarks  in  relation  to  the  method  of  marking  and  dividing  sentences  here  in- 
troduced :  — 

"  This  notation  will  not,  indeed,  inform  us  what  syllables  are  to  be  emphatic, 
nor  where  the  pauses  are  to  be  placed  •,  but  it  will  cMjable  a  master,  who  knows 
how  to  order  all  these  things  in  speech,  to  furnish  that  which  most  men  require 
for  every  thing  they  do  —  a  copy.  If  a  boy  is  taught  bv  this  method,  he  ac- 
quires the  habit  of  attention  to  the  subjects  of  acceotuatioQ  zmd  pause,  which 
may  be  readily  applied  hi  ordinary  discourse." 


122 


INTRODTTCTORY   LESSONS. 


723. 

Twas  at  the    royal 
*       -    -        *   - 

feast  T 

T  for 

Persia 

* 

won. 

*    _ 


HOHENLINDEN.* 


724. 

^  On 

Linden 

* 

7:^ 

when  the 

* 

sun  was      low 

*      -         *  - 

^  AH 

bloodless 
* 

^:} 

lay  the  un- 

*      -      - 

trodden 
* 

snow 
*    . 

T\ 

^  And 

dark  as 

* 

winter 

* 

^  was  the 

flow 

*    - 

^  Of 

Iser 

*  _ 

rolling 

*    - 

rapidly. 

n 

^1 

725. 

^  But 

Linden 

1^ 

saw  an- 

* 

other 
*  - 

sight 

When  the 

* 

drum 

* 

bea 

* 

t      ^at 

dead  of 

* 

light 

^  Com- 

manding 
* 

fires  of 

* 

death 

*    _ 

T: 

light 

^  The      darkness      ^  of  her 

♦     -           *       -         *  _     - 

scenery. 

T 

T\ 

726. 

;^By 

torch  and 

* 

trumpet 

* 

T\ 

fast  ar- 

* 

rayed 

Each 
*     _ 

horseman 

* 

drew  his 

* 

battle 

* 

blade 

* 

T\ 

*  Ailhougii  there  are  majiy  poetical  extracts  in  the  preceding  parts  of  this 
book,  this  is  the  first  extract  in  which  the  lines  are  distingxiished.  All  the  pre- 
ceding extracts  have  been  presented  in  sentences  like  prose,  to  prevent  that 
"  sing  song "  manner  of  reading  into  which  children  are  apt  to  fall.  It  is 
thought  that  the  introductory  remarks  in  this  lesson  are  adapted  to  prepare 
the  pupil  to  read  verse,  without  the  danger  of  "favoring  the  poetry,"  as  Uiis 
sing-song  is  sometimes  called.  The  usual  punctuation  is  omitted,  in  this  lesson^ 
as  the  system  of  notation  adopted  fully  supplies  its  place. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


123 


^  And      furious  I  ^^ 


every 

♦  _  _ 


^  To  I  join  the 


dreadful 


revelry. 

» 


charger 


neighed 

*     _ 


Then 
Then 


shook  the 

* 

rushed  the 


hills 


steeds 


727. 
^  with 

Tto 


thunder 

» 

battle 
»    _ 


riven 
driven 


^^  And 


louder  than  the 
*     _      _      _ 


Far 


flashed  I  ^  the 


red 

♦  - 


bolts  of  I  heaven  |  "^^ 


ri"- 


tillery. 

* 


T\ 


^  And 
^  On 
"^  And 


redder 


Linden's 

•     - 

darker 


yet 


728. 
^  those 


fires  shall 


glow 


hills  of 

♦ 

yet 


blood-stained 


^  shall   I  be  the 


*  . 
snow 


"11 


flow 

#  _ 


"^  Of     Iser      rolling      rapidly.      ^^      ^^ 


^  'Tis 
^  Can 
^  Where 


morn 

«    _ 


pierce  the 
furious 


729. 

^  but 


scarce 


yon 


lurid 

#   _ 


sun 


war  clouds 


rolling 


dun 


T\ 


Frank 


^  and 


fiery 


Hun 


T\ 

Shout  in  their 

sulphurous 

canopy 
•  -  - 

-n 

n 

^  The 

combat 

1 

deepens 

# 

* 

1 

On 

Tye 

brave 

• 

ho 

rush  to 

* 

glo 

* 

ry     - 

1 

1 

* 

or 

th 

e 

av 

e 

T 

11 

124 

INTRODUCTORY  LESSONS. 

Wave 

•       - 

*»M 

Munich 

* 

^1 

all  thy 

* 

banners 

* 

wave 

^ 

^  And    charge 

*^,  with 

* 

all    ^  thy 

*  -    *     - 

chivalry. 

* 

^T^, 

^, 

730. 

Few  ^ 

*  _ 

■^    few  shall 
* 

part 

*   - 

where 

* 

many 

* 

meet 

*   . 

"!^. 

^ 

^The 
» 

snow 

*^  shall  be  their    winding 
*     -        _       -         »      . 

sheet 

*  . 

^. 

*^,  And 

every 

*  - . 

turf 

*   - 

-jbe- 
# 

neath  their 

* 

feet 

^  Shall  I  be  a  I  soldier's  I  sepulchre.  I  ^  I  •^ 


CATHARINA. 


1 

* 

She 

* 

And 

* 

The 

And 

• 

^,  she  is 
*     -      _ 

meet  perhaps 


came  ^ 

* 


731. 

gone 

# 


^  we  have 

»    _ 


sun  of 


that 


seems  to  have 


never  a- 
*  -    - 

moment 

# 

risen  in 


gam 

*   . 


*1  is    set  ^ 
*   .      *    - 


vam.  ^ 


metH 


So 


Catha- 

* 

vanishes 

*    -    - 


rma 


^has 


732. 

fled  like  a 


dream 

*   - 


But  has 


^.  That 


left^ 


pleasure 

*     - 

^.  a  re- 


^.  a-    k 
*  .    \  * 

ffret  ^, 


*1  and  es- 


will  not  so    suddenly    pass.  ^ 


teem 

«  - 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

733. 


125 


Tin 


yonder 


grave 


:i« 


T  Whexe 
T  The 


Druid 


lies  T 


slowly 


winds  the 


stealing 


wave  '"^ 


ii; 


years 

# 


best 


T  To 


deck 

#   _ 


"1  its 

*     _ 


sweets  shall 

* 

Poet's 


duteous 


rise  T  I 

*     -   1 


sylvan 


grave. 


[The  pupil  will  observe  that  prose  as  well  as  poetry  is 
made  up  of  similar  measures  of  speech.  The  only  differ- 
ence in  sound,  between  poetry  and  prose,  is,  that  poetry  or 
verse  consists  of  a  regular  succession  of  similar  measures, 
which  produce  a  harmonious  impression  on  the  ear ;  while 
in  prose,  the  different  kinds  of  measure  occur  promiscuously, 
without  any  regular  succession.  The  following  example 
affords  an  instance  of  prose  divided  off  into  measures.] 


And  I  be- 

♦      _     _ 


angels 


ny 

beasts 

them 

sand 

with  a 

was  I  slain  "^ 


held 

# 

round   a- 


734. 

T  and  I 
»     _    _ 


heard  the 


voice  of 


ma- 


bout  the 


^  and  the 


elders 


T\ 


throne 
* 

^  and  the 


T  and  the 
number  of 


T  was 


T   and 

loud 

♦  _ 


ten  T 


thousand 


times 


thousands  of 

11 


thousands 


ten  T 


thou- 
Saying 


voice 


T  to  re- 


^  and 


ceive 

* 


wisdom 


T  and 


and  I  glory 


Worthy  is  the 

*     -    -     - 

"i  and 
"T  and 


Lamb  that 


power 

*     . 


strength 


riches 

honor 

#    _ 


T  and 
11='«' 


blessing. 


126  INTRODUCTORy   LESSONS. 

[In  the  following  extracts,  the  marks  of  the  accented  and 
unaccented  syllables  are  omitted,  but  the  bars  and  rests  are 
retained.     The  usual  punctuation  is  also  restored.] 

735. 

PART    OP    THE    NINTH    CHAPTER    OF    ST.    JOHN. 

And  as  |  Jesus  |  passed  |  by,  ^  |  "^  he  |  saw  a  |  man  which 
was  I  blind  from  his  [  birth.   |  ^^  |  T]  |  And  his  dis-  |  ci- 
ples  I    asked  him,  |  saying,  |   Master,  |  who  did  |  sin,  *^  | 
^  this  I  man  |  ^  or  his  |  parents,  |  that  he  was  |  born  "^  | 
blind?  m  I  T1  I  Jesus  |  answered,  |  Neither  hath  this  | 
man  |    sinned  |  nor  his  |  parents:  |  ^^  |  but  that  the  | 
works  of  I  God  |  ^  should  be  |  made  ^  |  manifest  in  |  him. 
^T  I  IT  I  ^  "^"^^  I   ^^^^  *^^  I  '^o^^s  of  I  him  that  |  sent 
me,  I  while  it  is  |  day ;  |  ^^  |  ^  the  |  night  |  cometh  | 
^  when  I  no  ^  I  man  I  can  ^  |  work.  "1  HT  m  H  As  | 
long  I  ^  as  I  I  am  in  the  |  world,  ^  |  I  |  am  the  |  light  | 
^  of  the  I  world.  I  ^^  I  ^^  I  When  he  had  |  thus  ^  | 
spoken,  |  ^  he  |  spat  on  the  |  ground,  ^   |  ^  and  |  made  | 
clay  I  ^  of  the  |  spittle,  |  and  he  a-  |  nointed  the  |  eyes  "^  \ 
^  of  the  I  blind  |  man  |  ^  with  the  |  clay,  "^  |  "^  and  |  said 
unto  him,  |  Go,  ^  \  wash  in  the  |  pool  of  |  Siloam,  |  ^^  | 
(which  is,  by  in-  |  terpre-  |  tation,  |  Sent.)   |  ^"1  |  ^^  | 
^  He  I  went  his  |  way,  |  therefore,   |  ^  and  |  washed,  | 
^  and  I  came  |  seeing,  m  m  | 

^  The  I  neighbors  |  therefore,  |  ^  and  1  they  which  be-  | 
fore  had  |  seen  him,  |  that  he  was  |  blind,  |  ^^  |  said,  ^  \ 
Is  not  I  this  ^  I  he  that  |  sat  and  |  begged?  H^  H"!  j 
Some  I  said,  ^  |  This  |  is  |  he;  ^  |  others  |  said,  ^  |  He 
is  I  like  him :  n^  n  but  I  he  I  said,  ^  I  |  am  |  he.  ^^  | 
*^^  I  Therefore  |  said  they  unto  him,  |  ^^"^  |  How  |  were 
thine  j  eyes  |  opened  ?  |  '^^  |  ^^  |  ^  He  |  answered  and  [ 
said,  I  ^  A  I  man  |  ^  that  is  |  called  |  Jesus,  |  made  |  clay,  ] 
^  and  a-  |  nointed  mine  |  eyes,  |  ^  and  |  said  unto  me,  | 
Go  to  the  1  pool  of  |  Siloam,  |  "1  and  |  wash:  ^  m  | 
^  and  I  I  went  and  |  washed,  |  ^  and  I  re-  ]  ceived  |  sight.  | 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS  127 

^^  m  I  Then  I  said  they  unto  him,  |  ^^  |  Where  |  is 
he?  n^  n  I  He  I  said,  T  H  |  I  know  not.  m  m  | 

"^  They  |  brought  to  the  |  Pharisees  |  him  that  a-  j  fore 
time  I  ^  was  I  blind.   |  ^^  |  And  it  was  the  |  Sabbath  | 
day  "^  I  ^  when  |  Jesus  |  made  the  |  clay,  |  ^  and  |  opened 
his  I  eyes.  |  ^^  |  Then  a- 1  gain  the  |  Pharisees  |  also  | 
asked   him  [  how  he  had  re-  |  ceived  his  [  sight.  |  "^^  | 
^  He  I  said  unto  |  them,*  i  ^  He  |  put  '^  [  clay  ^  |  ^  upon 
mine  |  eyes,  |  ^  and  I  |  washed  |  and  do  |  see.  |  ^^  |  ^|^  | 
Therefore  said  |  some  of  the  |  Pharisees,  |  ^  This  |  man 
is  I  not  of  I  God,  |  "^  be-  |  cause  |  ^  he  |  keepeth  not  the  | 
Sabbath  |  day.  |  *^^  |  Others  |  said,  ^  |  How  can  a  |  man 
that  is  a  |  sinner,  |  do  such  |  miracles?  |  ^^  |  And  there 
was  I  "^  a  di-  |  vision  a-  |  mong  them.  |  T1   MT  |  ^  They 
say  I  unto  the  |  blind  |  man  a-  |  gain,  ^  |  "^^  |  What  | 
sayest  |  thou  of  him?  |  that  he  hath  |  opened  thine  |  eyes?  | 
^T  n  He  said,  T  I  He  is  a  I  prophet,  m  m  | 

736. 

PSALM    CXXXIX. 

O  I  Lord,  ^  I  thou  hast  |  searched  me,  |  ^  and  |  known 
"^®-  i  ^^  I  ^T  M  Thou  I  knowest  my  |  down  |  sitting  | 
^  and  mine  |  up  "^  |  rising;  |  '^  thou  |  under-  |  standest 
my  I  thoughts  I  T  a-  I  far  I  off.  ^  |  ^^  Ml  |  Thou  | 
compassest  my  |  path,  ^  |  ^  and  my  |  lying  |  down,  ^  \  and 
art  ac-  |  quainted  with  |  all  my  |  ways.  |  ^^  |  For  there  is  | 
not  a  I  word  in  my  [  tongue,  |  ^  but  |  lo,  ^  |  O  ^  |  Lord,  | 
thou  "-1  I  knowest  it  |  alto-  |  gether.  M^  |  "^T  |  Thou  hast 
be-  I  set  me  I  T  be-  I  hind  and  be-  |  fore,  ^  |  ^  and  |  laid 
thine  |  hand  up-  |  on  me.   |  ^"^  \  ^^  |  Such  ^  |  knowledge 
is  I  too  I  wonderful  for  |  me :  |  ^^  |  it  is  |  high,  ^  |  ^  I  | 
cannot  at-  |  tain  unto  it.   |  ^^  j  ^^  \  Whither  shall  I  | 
go  ^  I  ^  from  thy  |  spirit?  |  "IT   |  "1  or  |  whither  shall  I  | 
flee  from  thy  |  presence?  |  ^^  H^  |  If  I  as-  |  cend  ^  \ 

*  See  Number  695,  page  115. 


128  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

up  into  I  heaven,  |  ^^  |  thou  art  |  there :  |  ^^  |  if  I  | 
make  my  |  bed  in  |  hell,  |  ^  be-  |  hold,  ^  |  thou  art  |  there.  | 
^w|  I  w|wj  I  jf  J  I  ^^j^g  ^^^  I  ^^^j^gg  ^^^^^  I  morning  H  and  | 

dwell  in  the  |  uttermost  |  parts  of  the  |  sea:  |  ^*^  |  Even  | 
there   |  ^  shall   thy   |    hand  ^  |  lead  me,   |  ^  and  thy  j 
right  T  I  hand  shall  |  hold  me.  ^^  ^  |  If  I  |  say,  |  Surely 
the  I  darkness  shall  |  cover  me :  |  ^^  |  even  the  |  night  ^  | 
^  shall  be  I  light  a-  |  bout  me :  |  ^^  |  Yea,  |  ^  the  dark- 
ness I  hideth  not  from  |  thee ;  |  ^"^  |  but  the  |  night  |  shineth 
as  the  I  day :  |  ^^  |  ^  the  |  darkness  |  and  the  1  light  ^  | 
^  are  |  both  a-  |  like  H  to  |  thee,  m  H^  | 

737. 

MARCO    BOZZARIS. 

[He  fell  in  an  attack  upon  the  Turkish  camp  at  Lapsi,  the  site  of 
ancient  Plataja,  August  20,  1823,  and  expired  in  tiie  moment  of 
victory.] 

^  At  I  midnight,  |  ^^  |  in  his  |  guarded  |  tent,  "^  \ 
^  The  I  Turk  |  ^  was  |  dreaming  |  ^  of  the  |  hoUr,  | 

""^  When  I  Greece,  |  ^  her  |  knee  in  |  suppliance  |  bent,  ^  | 
^  Should  I  tremble  |  ^  at  his  |  power;   | 

^^  I  ^  In  I  dreams,  |  ^  through  |  camp  and  |  court,  "^  | 
^  he  I  bore  ^  | 

^  The  I  trophies  |  "^  of  a  |  conqueror.   | 

In  I  dreams,  |  ^  his  |  song  of  |  triumph  |  heard ;   |  ^"^  | 

Then  ^  \  wore  his  |  monarch's  |  signet  |  ring,  —  |  '^'^  | 
Then  ^   |  press'd  that  |  monarch's  |  throne, —  MT  |  "1  a 

I  King;  1  nil 
1  As  I  wild  his  |  thoughts,  ^  |  ^  and  |  gay  of  |  wing,  ^  | 
1  As  1  Eden's  |  garden  |   bird.  1  |  H  |  11  | 

738. 

1  At  I  midnight,  |  1  in  the  |  forest  |  shades,  |  H  | 
1  Boz-  I  zaris  |  ranged  his  |  Suliote  |  band,  |  H  | 

True  I  1  as  the  |  steel  |  1  of  their  |  tried  |  blades,  | 
Heroes  1  1  in  |  heart  and  [  hand;  ]  H  |  H  1 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  129 

There  had  the  |  Persian's  |  thousands  |  stood,  ^  | 
There  |  ^  had  the  |  glad  ^  |  earth  ^  |  drunk  their  |  blood  ^  | 

^  I  On  I  old  Pla-  I  tsa's  |  day :  | 
^  And  I  now,  *^  |  ^  there  |  breathed  that  |  haunted  |  air  ^  | 
The  I  sons  |  ^  of  |  sires  who  |  conquered  |  there,  '^  \ 
^  With  I  arm  to  |  strike  ^  |  ^  and  |  soul  to  |  dare,  | 

T  As  I  quick,-!  I  -n  Has  I  far  as  |  they.  ^  m  HH 

739. 
^  An  I  hour  pass'd  |  on  —  ^  |  ^^  |  ^  the  |  Turk  a-  |  woke : 

mi 

That  ^  I  bright  ^  |  dream  |  ^  was  his  |  last;  ^  m  | 
"^  He  I  woke — "^  |  ^  to  |  hear  his  |  sentry's  |  shriek,  | 
^  "  To  I  arms !  [  ^  they  |  come !  M  the  |  Greek,  ^  |  ^  the 

I  Greek."  ^  | 

"^  He  I  woke  —  to  |  die  |  "^  midst  |  flame  and  |  smoke,  '^  | 
^  And  I  shout,  and   |  groan,  and  |  sabre  stroke,  ^  | 
"^^  I  ^  And  I  death-shots  |  falling  |  thick  and  |  fast  ^  | 
"^  As  I  lightnings  |  ^  from  the  |  mountain  |  cloud  ;  ^  |  "^^  | 
^  And  I  heard,  ^  |  ^  with  |  voice  as  |  thunder  |  loud,  "^  | 

^  Boz-  I  zaris  |  cheer  his  |  band ;  | 
^^  I  "  Strike  —  ^  |  ^  till  the  |  last  |  armed  |  foe  ex-  |  pires, 

1  m  I 

Strike  MT  |  1  for  your  |  altars  |  ^  and  your  |  fires,  ^  | 

II  I 

Strike  |  ^  for  the  |  green  |  graves  of  your  |  sires,  |  "^^  | 

God—  T  I  T  and  your  |  native  |  land ! "  1  Ml  HI  | 

740. 
They  |  fought,  ^  \  ^  like  |  brave  |  men,  ^  \  long  and  |  well 

1  Ml  I 

^  They  |  piled  that  |  ground  |  ^  with  |  Moslem  |  slain,  ^  \ 
^  They  |  conquered—  |  ^^  |  but  Boz-  |  zaris  |  fell,  ^  | 
-1-1  I  Bleeding  at  |  every  |  vein.  1  Ml  Ml  Ml  | 
-1  His  I  few  sur-  |  viving  |  comrades  |  -j-]  |  saw  -|  | 
-|  His  I  smile,  |  -]  when  |  rang  their  |  proud  -j  |  hurrah,  | 


130  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

And  the  |  red  ^  |  field  ^  |  was  |  won ;  ^  |  ^^  | 
Then  |  saw  in  |  death  ^  |  "^  his  |  eyelids  |  close  ^  | 
Calmly,  |  as  to  a  |  night's  re-  |  pose,  ^  | 

^  Like  I  flowers  at  |  set  of  |  sun.  1  |  11  |  ^T  1 

741. 
Come  to  the  |  bridal  |  chamber,  |  Death!  ^  | 

Come  to  the  |  mother,  |  ^  when  she  |  feels,  ^  | 
1  For  the  |  first  ^  |  time,  ^  |  ^  her  |  first-born's  |  breath;  | 
H  I  Come  when  the  |  blessed  |  seals  ^  | 
Which  I  close  the  |  pestilence  |  ^  are  |  broke,  ^  |  H  | 
1  And  I  crowded  |  cities  |  wail  its  |  stroke ;  —  1  |  H  | 
Come  in  con-  |  sumption's  ghastly  |  form,  ^  | 

I  The  I  earthquake  |  shock,  ^  |  ^  the  |  ocean  |  storm; —  | 
Come  when  the  |  heart  |  beats  |  high  and  |  warm,  ^  | 

1  With  I  banquet  |  song,  |  ^  and  |  dance,  and  |  wine,  ^  | 

II  I  And  I  thou  art  |  terrible !  —  1  the  |  tear,  1  | 

1  The   I   groan,  |  1  the  |  knell,  1  |  1  the  |  pall,  1  |  ^ 

the  I  bier,  | 
1  And  I  all  we  [  know,  |  1  or  |  dream,  or  |  fear  1  | 
1  Of  I  agony,  |  1  are  |  thine.  |  H  |  H  | 

742. 
But  to  the  I  hero,  |  1  when  his  |  sword  1  | 

1  Has  I  won  the  |  battle  |  1  for  the  |  free,  |  H  | 
1  I  Thy  voice  1  |  sounds  like  a  |  prophet's  |  word,  1 1  H  | 
And  in  its  |  hollow  |  tones  are  |  heard  1  | 

1  The  I  thanks  of  |  millions  |  yet  to  |  be.  1  |  H  |  H  \ 
1  Boz-  I  zaris !   |  H  |  1  with  the  |  storied  |  brave  1  | 

Greece  |  nurtured  |  1  in  her  |  glory's  time,  1  |  H  | 
Rest  thee  —  |  H  |  there  is  |  no  |  prouder  |  grave,  | 

Even  in  her  |  own  1  |  proud  1  |  clime.  |  H  |  H  | 

1  We  I  tell  thy  |  doom  |  1  with-  |  out  a  |  sigh ;  1  | 
For  thou  art  |  Freedom's  |  now,  1 1  1  and  |  Fame's ;  1 1 11 1 
One  of  the  |  few,  1  |  1  the  im-  |  mortal  |  names,  |  11  | 

1  That  I  were  not  |  born  to  |  die.  1  |  H  |  H  | 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  131 

743. 
Antony's  oration  over  c^esar's  body. 

Friends,   |  ^^   |   Romans,   |  ^^   |    Countrymen!    |  ^^  | 

Lend  me  your  |  ears;  Ml  MT  | 
^  I  I  come  I  T  to  I  bury  |  Caesar,  |  ^^  |  not  to  |  praise  | 

him.  m  m  I 

^  The  I  evil,  |  ^  that  |  men  |  do,  |  lives  |  after  them ;\^^\ 
^  The  I  good  |  ^  is  |  oft  in-   |   terred  |  ^  with  their  | 

bones:  |  ^^  | 
So  let  it  I  be  M  with  |  Cssar!  ^  |  ^  The  |  noble  | 

Brutus  I 
^  Hath  I  told  you,  |  Caesar  |  ^  was  am-  |  bitious.  |  ^^  | 
If  it  I  were  so,  |  it  was  a  |  grievous  |  fault ;  |  ^^  | 
^  And  I  grievously  |  ^  hath  |  Caesar  |  answered  it.  |  ^^  | 
Here,  |  under  |  leave  of  |  Brutus  |  ^  and  the  |  rest,  | 
^  (For  I  Brutus  |  ^  is  an  |  honorable  |  man,  |  ^"^  | 
So  are  they  |  all,  "^  \  all  |  honorable  |  men :)  M^  | 
Come  I  n  to  I  speak  ^  in  |  Caesar's  |  funeral,  m  |  ^T  | 

744. 
He  was  my  |  friend,*  |  ^^  |  faithful  |  ^  and  |  just  to  | 
me:  |  T\  I 
^  But  I  Brutus  I  says  |  he  was  am-  |  bitious ;  |  ^^  | 
>^^  I  ^  And  I  Brutus  |  ^  is  an  |  honorable  |  man.  |  ^"^  | 

T\  1 

He  hath  |  brought  |  many  |  captives  |  home  to  |  Rome,  | 
'^  Whose  I  ransoms  |  ^  did  the  |  general  |  coffers  |  fill 

m  m  I 

T  Did  I  this  n  in  I  Caesar  |  seem  am-  |  bitious?  m  m  | 
When  that  the  |  poor  have  |  cried,  |  "^^  |  Caesar  hath  | 

wept;  m  I  -n  I 

^  Am-  I  bition  |  ^  should  be  |  made  of  |  sterner  |  stuff.  | 

*  See  Number  528,  page  77. 


132  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

^  Yet  I  Brutus  |  says  |  ^  he  |  was  am-  |  bitious;  | 
^T  I  ^  And  I  Brutus  |  ^  is  an  |  honorable  |  man.  |  "^^  | 

T\  I 

^  You  I  all  did   |  see,  |  ^  that,  |  on  the  |  Lupercal,  | 
^  I  I  thrice  pre-  |  sented  him  |  "^  a  |  kingly  |  crown ;  | 
^^  I  Which  he  did  |  thrice  |  ^  re-  I  f'use.  |  ^T  IT  Was 

this  am-  I  bition  M  ^1  I  11  I 
^  Yet  I  Brutus  |  says  |  he  was  am-  |  bitious ;  |  "^^  | 
^  And  I  sure,  [^  he  |  is  IT  an  |  honorable  |  man.     |  "^^  [ 

745. 

^^  I  ^  I  I  speak  not  |  ^  to  dis-  |  prove  |  what  |  Brutus  | 

spoke;  | 
^  But  I  here  |  I  am  to  |  speak  |  what  I  do  |  know.  |  ^^  | 

T]  I 

'^  You  I   all  did   |  love  him  |  once ;  |  ^"^  |  not  without  | 

cause:  |  ^^  | 
What  I  cause  with-  |  holds  you,  |  then,  |  "^  to  |  mourn  | 

for  him?  ni  m  I 

O    I  judgment,   |    ^'^    \    Thou   art    |   fled   to    |    brutish    | 

beasts,  |  ^^  | 
^  And  I  men  I  ^  have  |  lost  their  |  reason !  m  m  | 

Bear  with  me :  | 
^T  I  ^  My  I  heart  ^  |  is  in  the  |  coffin  [  there  |  ^  with 

I  Caesar;  | 
^"^  I  And  I  must  |  pause  ^  |  till  it  |  come  |  back  to  me. 

\T\\T\\ 

746. 
^  But  I  yesterday,  |  '^  the  |  word  of  |  Csesar  |  might  | 
^  Have  I  stood  a-  |  gainst  the  |  world !  |  ^"^  |  now  |  lies 

he  I  there,  | 
*^^  I  ^  And  I  none  |  so  |  poor  |  ^  to  |  do  him  |  rever- 

ence.  Ml  ni  | 
O  I  masters!  |  ^"^  |  If  I  were  dis-  |  posed  to  |  stir  | 
^  Your  I  hearts  and  |  minds  |  ^  to  I  mutiny  and  |  rage,  | 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 


133 


T  should  do  1  Brutus  |  wrong,  |  ^  and  |  Cassius  |  ^^  | 

wrong;  | 
^1^  I  Who,  I  ^  you  I  all  |  know,  |  ^  are  |  honorable  |  men. 

\T\\T\\ 

^  I  I  will  not  I  do  I  them  |  wrong;  HT  M^  |  I  |  rather 

I  choose  I 
^  To  I  wrong  the  |  dead,  |  "^  to  |  wrong  my-  |  self  |  ^ 

and  I  you,  | 
Than  I  will  |   wrong  |  such  ^  |  honorable  |  men.  |  ^^  \ 

747. 
^  But  I  here's  a    |  parchment   |   ^  with  the   |    seal   of  | 

Caesar;  | 
^  I  I  found  it  I  ^  in  his  |  closet;  |  ^^  |  'Tis  his  |  will: 

mi 

Let  but  the  |  commons  |  hear  |  ^  this  |  testament,  |  "^^  | 
*^  (Which,  I  pardon  me,  |  "^  I  |  do  not  |  mean  to  |  read,)  | 
*^^  I  And  they  would   |   go  |  ^  and   |   kiss  |  dead  |  Caesar's 

I  wounds,  I 
^  And  I  dip  their  |  napkins  |  ^  in  his  |  sacred  |  blood;  | 
^"^  I  Yea,  I  beg  a  |  hair  of  him  |  ^  for  |  memory,  | 
^  And  I  dying,  |  ^^  |  mention  it  |  within  their  |  wills,  | 
^^  I  ^  Be-  I  queathing  it  |  ^  as  a  |  rich  ^  |  legacy,  | 
Unto  their  |  issue.  M^  Ml  | 

748. 
If  you   have  |  tears,  |  "^  pre-  |  pare  to  |  shed   them  | 

now.  I  -n  I  -n  I 

^  You  I  all  do  I  know  |  this  |  mantle :  |  ^"^   |   I  remem- 
ber I 
"^  The  I  first  |  time  |  ever  |  Caesar  |  put  it  |  on ;  |  "^"^  | 
'Twas  on  a  |  summer's  |  evening,  |  ^  in  his  |  tent ;  |  ^*^  | 
That  I  day  I  ^  he  I  overcame  the  |  Nervii :   M^  |  "IT  | 
Look !   I  ^  in    |    this  |  place  |  ran   |    Cassius'  |    dagger  | 

through!  ni  m  1 

See  what  a  |  rent  |  ^  the  |  envious  |  Casca  |  made !  |  "^^ 


134  mxRODUCTORy  lessons. 

Through  |  this  |  ^  the  |  well  be-  |  loved  |  Brutus  |  stabbed, 

mi 

^^  I  And  as  he  |  plucked  his  |   cursed  |  steel  a-  |  way  | 
^T  I  Mark  ^  \  how  the  |  blood  of  |  Caesar  |  followed  it 

m  m  I 

749. 
This  I  ^  was  the  |  most  un-  |  kindest  |  cut  of  |  all !  | 
^^  I  ^  For  I  when  the  |  noble  |  Caesar  |  saw  |  him  |  stab,  | 
"^  In- 1  gratitude,  |  "^  more  |  strong  than  |  traitor's  |  arms,  | 
Q-uite  I  vanquished  him :  |  ^"^  |  then  |  burst  his  |  mighty 

heart;  |  ^^  \ 
And  in  his  |  mantle  |  ^^  |  muffling  up  his  |  face,  |  ^"^  | 
Even  at  the  |   base  of  |  Pompey's  |  statue,  | 
^^  I  ^  (Which  I  all  the  I  while  |  ran  |  blood,)  [  ^^  ] 

great  |  Csesar  |  fell.  MT  MT  | 
Oh  1  what  a  |  fall  |  ^  was  |  there,  |  '^  my  |  countrymen !  | 

m  nil 

Then  |  I,  |  "^  and  |  you,  H  and  |  all  of  us,  |  fell  |  down,  | 
Whilst  ^  I  bloody  |  treason  |  flourished  |  over  us.  |  ^^  | 

11 1 

Oh !  1  now  you  |  weep ;  [  ^^  |.^  and  I  per-  |  ceive  |  ^  you 

I  feel  I 
^  The  I  dint  of  |  pity ;  |  H  |  these  |  ^  are  |  gracious  | 

drop^.  m  m  I 

Kind  I  souls;   |  ^"^  |    what,  |  weep  you  |  ^^  |   when  you 

but  be-  I  hold  | 
T  Our  I  Caesar's  |  vesture  |   wounded  ?  |  H  i  H  1  Look 

you  I  here!  niMH 
Here  is  him-  |  self,  |  ^^   |   marr'd,  |  ^  as  you  |  see,  |  ^  by 

I  traitors,   m  Ml  | 

750. 
Good  I  friends,  |  sweet  |  friends,  |  "^^  |  let  me  not   | 
stir  you  |  up  | 
^  To  I  such  a  I  sudden  |  flood  of  |  mutiny.  |  "^"^  | 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  135 

^^  I  They  that  have  |  done  this  |  deed,  |  ^  are  |  honor- 
able: I 

^"^  I  What  I  private  |  griefs  |  ^  they  |  have,  |  ^  a-  |  las ! 
I  "^  I  I  know  not,  | 

^  That  I  made  them  |  do  it:  |  ^'^  |  they  are  |  wise,  | 
^  and  I  honorable,  | 

^  And  I  will,  ^  I  no  I  doubt,  |  ^  with  |  reason  |  answer 

you.  m  m  I 


751. 
*^  I  I  come  not,  |  friends,  |  ^  to  |  steal  away  |  ^  your  | 

hearts;  m  | 
I  am  I  no  I  orator,  |  ^  as  |  Brutus  is ;  | 
^^  I  But  as  you  |  know  me  |  all,  |  ^  a  |  plain  |  blunt  | 

man,  { 
^  That  I  love  my  |  friend ;  |  ^^  |  ^  and  |  that  |  they  | 

know  I  full  I  well  | 
^  That  I  gave  me  |  public  |  leave  |  ^  to  |  speak  of  him. 

m  m  I 

752. 

For  I  have  |  neither  |  wit,  |  ^  nor  |  words,  |  ^  nor  | 

worth,  n-|  I 
Action,  I  "^  nor  |  utterance,  |  ^  nor  the  |  power  of  |  speech,  | 
T  To  I  stir  I   men's  |   blood.   |  "1"]  M  I  only  |  speak  | 

right  I   on:  m  I 
^  I  I  tell  you  I  that  |  ^  which  |  you  yourselves  |  '*^  do  | 

know;  | 
^^  I  Show  you  I  sweet  |  Caesar's  |  wounds,  ]  ^^  |  poor,  | 

I  poor  I  dumb  |  mouths,  | 
T  And  I  bid   I  them  |    speak  |  for  me.  M'l  Ml  |  But 

were  |  I  |  Brutus,  | 
^  And  I  Brutus  |  Antony,  |  ^^  |  there  were  an  |  Antony  | 
^  Would  I  ruffle  |  up  your  |  spirits,  |  ^"^  \  ^  and  |  put  a 

I  tongue  I 


136  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

"^  In  I  every  |  wound  of  |  Caesar,  |  ^\  that  should  |  move  | 
^  The  I   stones  of  |    Rome   |   "^  to  |  rise  in  |  mutiny.  | 

m  ni  I 

The  preceding  examples,  including  both  poetry  and  prose,  it  is 
thought,  will  be  sufficient  to  explain  the  principle  embraced  in  this 
lesson,  entitled  the  Measure  of  Speech.  The  pupil  should  endeavor 
in  all  his  reading  exercises,  to  form  the  sentences,  whether  of  poetry 
or  prose,  into  measures,  for  the  purpose  of  reading  with  facility  and 
without  fatigue.  The  pauses  or  rests  which  occur  in  the  imperfect 
measures,  will  afford  him  an  opportunity  of  taking  breath  at  such  in- 
tervals, that,  in  the  words  of  Dr.  Barber,  "  reading  will  cease  to  be 
laborious,  and  the  sense  will  be  rendered  clear,  as  far  as  it  is  depend- 
ent on  the  capital  point  of  the  distribution  of  time,  or  measure."  The 
principle  explained  in  this  lesson,  when  well  understood,  and  judi- 
ciously applied,  will  make  the  pupil  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  all 
the  different  kinds  of  versification ;  for  he  will  perceive  that  all  the 
varieties  of  poetry  (or  verse)  are  dependent  upon  the  regular  succes- 
sion of  the  various  measures  of  speech."  * 


LESSON    XXXVI. 

MANNER    OF    READING    POETRY. 


The  division  of  poetry  into  verses,  addressing  themselves  to  the 
eye,  is  often  the  cause  of  what  is  called  a  "  sing  song  "  utterance,  which 
it  should  be  the  study  of  every  good  reader  to  avoid.  \^See  note  on 
page  122.] 

In  the  last  lesson,  the  attention  of  the  pupil  was  drawn  to  the  meas- 
ure OF  SPEECH — a  subject,  which,  although  it  is  very  important  in 
prose,  is  doubly  so  in  the  reading  of  poetry  or  verse,  as  it  determines 
a  question  which  has  long  been  debated  by  teachers  of  the  art  of  read- 
ing, viz.  whether  a  pause  should  be  made  at  the  end  of  every  line. 

It  is  maintained  by  a  very  respectable  writer,  that  in  reading  '  blank 
verse^^  *'  we  ought  to  make  every  line  sensible  to  the  ear  ;  for  what  " 
(it  is  asked  by  the  writer)  "  is  the  use  of  the  melody,  or  for  what  end 
has  the  poet  composed  in  verse,  if,  in  reading  his  lines,  we  suppress  his 

*  A  greater  variety  of  exercises  for  reading,  divided  into  measures,  may  be 
found  in  Dr.  Barber's  Grammar  of  Elocution. 

They,  wlio  have  any  curiosity  to  know  the  manner  in  which  Garrick  pro- 
nounced Hamlet's  Soliloquy  on  Death,  are  referred  to  Steele's  Prosodia 
Ralionalis,  (edition  of  1779,  p.  40,  et  seq.,)  where  it  is  divided  into  measures, 
and  accented.  Dr.  Barber's  method  of  dividing  speech  is  identical  with  Mr. 
Steele's. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  137 

numbers,  by  omitting  the  final  pause,  and  degrade  them,  by  our  pro- 
nunciation, into  mere  prose  ?  " 

The  remarks  made  in  the  previous  lesson  are  a  sufficient  reply  to 
this  question.  It  is  there  staled  that  all  sentences  that  are,  or  can  be, 
read  or  pronounced,  are  divisible  into  measures ;  and  that  the  only 
dillerence  there  is  iw  sound  between  prose  and  verse  is,  that  verse  con- 
sists of  a  regular  succession  of  similar  measures,  while  in  prose  the 
different  kinds  of  measure  occur  promiscuously,  without  any  regular 
succession.  Now,  if  this  be  the  case,  as  it  undoubtedly  is,  there  will 
be  no  necessity  of  a  pause  at  the  end  of  the  line,  to  render  the  melody 
sensible  to  the  ear.  Indeed,  it  will  be  impossible  for  the  reader,  who 
pays  proper  attention  to  the  measures  into  which  all  poetical  lines  are 
divided,  to  conceal  the  melody  which  the  lines  possess.  The  art  of 
the  poet,  so  far  as  the  harmony  is  concerned,  consists  in  such  an  ar- 
rangement of  his  measures,  as  to  leave  little  for  the  reader  to  do,  in 
order  to  convey  the  melody  to  the  hearer ;  and  those  lines  which  re- 
quire '  fiumoring,'  in  order  that  the  music  of  the  versification  may  be 
distinguished,  have  little  title  to  the  name  of  verse. 

The  only  direction,  therefore,  which  it  is  necessary  to  give  the 
pupil  in  reading  verse  is,  to  endeavor  to  forget,  or  rather  to  disregard, 
the  division  of  the  sentences  into  lines,  and  to  read  with  the  same  in- 
flections, accent,  tone,  emphasis,  and  expression,  that  he  would  use 
in  reading  prose. 

In  addition  to  the  remarks  which  were  made  in  the  last  lesson  in 
relation  to  the  pauses  caused  by  imperfect  measures  of  speech,  it  re- 
mains to  be  observed  that  there  is  generally  a  pause,  which  belongs 
exclusively  to  poetry,  called  the  CiEsuRA,*  or  the  Ctesural  pause. 
This  pause  must  always  be  properly  regarded  ;  and  in  studying  a 
reading  lesson  in  verse,  the  pupil  must  be  careful  to  ascertam  where 
this  pause  belongs.  It  is  generally  made  after  the  fourth,  fifth,  or 
sixth  syllable  in  the  line  ;  but  it  is  sometimes  found  after  the  third  or 
tlie  seventh,  and  occasionally  even  after  the  second  or  the  eighth. 

In  the  following  lines,  the  place  where  the  caesura,  or  the  ca?sural 
pause,  is  to  be  made,  is  indicated  by  a  figure,  and  the  parallel  lines  || ; 
and  in  reading  them,  the  pupil  will  remember  to  make  a  slight  pause 
when  he  comes  to  the  figure. 

753. 

The  casura  after  the  4th  syllable. 

The  Savior  comes,  ^  ||  by  ancient  bards  foretold. 

754. 

TTie  ccBsura  after  the  5th  syllable. 
From  storms  a  shelter,  ^  1|  and  from  heat  a  shade. 

*  The  word  cotsura  means  a  cut,  or  division.  An  attentive  observer  will 
not  fail  to  nolice  that  the  beauty  and  grace  of  English  versification  depends 
much  upon  the  situaliou  of  the  caesura.  The  poet  has  it  in  his  power,  by 
diversifying  its  position,  to  give  his  numbers  a  grateful  variety,  which  ihey 
would  not  otherwise  possess.  They,  who  would  see  this  subject  more  fully 
discussed,  will  find  some  valuable  remarks  in  the  work  of  Dr.  Carey,  entitled 
"Practical  English  Prosody;'   London   ed.   1816,  p.  69. 

12* 


138  INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 

755. 

TJie  ccDsura  after  the  6th  syllable. 

Exalt  thy  lofty  head,  6  ||  and  lift  thine  eyes. 

756. 

The  ccBsura  after  the  Sd  syllable. 

Exploring,  3  \\  till  they  find  their  native  deep. 

757. 

The  cmsura  after  the  1th  syllable. 

Within  that  mystic  circle  "^  |1  safety  seek. 

758. 

The  ccBsura  after  the  2d  syllable. 

Happy,  2  II  without  the  privilege  of  will. 

759. 

The  ccBsura  after  the  8th  syllable. 

In  different  individuals  ^  ||  we  find. 

In  some  lines,  besides  the  caesura,  there  is  also  what  is 
called  the  demi-ccBsura,  or  half  caesura,  at  which  the  pause  is 
very  slight,  as  in  the  following  lines,  in  which  the  demi-cae- 
sura  is  marked  with  a  single  accent,  and  the  caesura  with  a 
double  accent. 

760. 
Warms'  in  the  sun,"  refreshes'  in  the  breeze, 
Glows '  in  the  stars, "  and  blossoms '  in  the  trees  ; 
Lives '  through  all  life  "  ;  extends '  through  all  extent, 
Spreads'  undivided,"  operates'  unspent. 

The  pupil  will  recollect  that  no  pause  must  be  made^  and  es- 
pecially that  the  falling  infection  of  the  voice  must  not  be  used 
at  the  end  of  the  line,  unless  the  sense  requires  it.  In  the 
following  extract,  the  pause,  with  the  falling  infection,  occurs 
in  that  part  of  the  line  indicated  by  the  grave  accent.  The 
extract  is  from  the  description  of  the  deluge  in  Paradise  Lost. 

761. 
Meanwhile  the  south  wind  rose,  and  with  black  wings, 
Wide  hovering,  all  the  clouds  together  drove 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  139 

From  under  heaven :  the  liills,  to  their  supply, 
Vapor  and  exhalation  dusk  and  moist 
Sent  up  amain  :  and  now  the  thickened  sky 
Like  a  dark  ceiling  stood ;   down  rushed  the  rain 
Impetuous,  and  continued,  till  the  earth 
No  more  was  seen  ;  the  floating  vessel  swam 
Uplifted,  and  secure  with  beaked  *  prow 
Rode  tilting  o'er  the  waves. 

A  Simile,  or  Comparison,  in  poetry ^  should  he  slurred;  f 
that  is,  it  should  be  read  in  a  lower  tone  of  voice,  with  less 
force,  and  more  rapidly. 

In  the  following  lines  the  simile  is  contained  in  Italic 
letters. 

762. 
Tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy  Sleep! 
He,  like  the  world,  his  ready  visits  pays 
Where  fortune  smiles;  the  wretched  he  forsakes; 
Swift  on  his  downy  pinions,  flies  from  grief, 
And  lights  on  lids  unsullied  with  a  tear. 

763. 
Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms; 
And  dear  that  hill  which  lifts  him  from  the  storms; 
And,  as  a  child,  whom  scaring  sounds  molest. 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  his  mother's  breast, 
So  the  loud  torrent,  and  the  whirlwind's  roar, 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 

764. 
The  skies,  like  a  banner  in  sunset  unrolled, 
O'er  the  west  threw  their  splendor  of  azure  and  gold; 
But  one  cloud  at  a  distance  rose  dense,  and  increased 
Till  its  margin  of  black  touched  the  zenith  and  east. 

Like  a  spirit,  it  came  in  the  van  of  a  storm  ! 
And  the  eye,  and  the  heart,  hailed  its  beautiful  form, 
For  it  looked  not  severe,  like  an  angel  of  wrath, 
But  its  garment  of  brightness  illumed  its  dark  path. 

*  This  word,  by  poetic  license,  must  be  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable,  beak-ed. 
1  See  Lesson  ^,p.  1 13,  of  this  volume,  for  an  explanation  of  the  slur. 


^^0  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

765. 
So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry  slave  at  nighty 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon ;  but  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

The  word  verse  properly  means  a  turning,  and  for  this  reason  each 
line  in  poetry  is  a  verse.  The  divisions  of  a  poem,  whether  they  con- 
sist of  four,  six,  or  any  other  number  of  verses  or  lines,  are  called 
stanzas.  The  pupil  must  be  careful  not  to  pause  at  the  end  of  a 
stanza,  unless  the  sense  is  completed.  The  following  are  instances  in 
which,  as  the  sense  is  not  completed,  the  voice  must  not  be  suspended 
at  the  end  of  the  stanza. 

766. 
In  what  rich  harmony,  what  polished  lays, 
Should  man  address  thy  throne,  when  Nature  pays 
Her  wild,  her  tuneful  tribute  to  the  sky ! 
Yes,  Lord,  she  sings  thee,  but  she  knows  not  why. 
The  fountain's  gush,  the  long-resounding  shore, 
The  zephyr's  whisper,  and  the  tempest's  roar, 
The  rustling  leaf,  in  autumn's  fading  woods. 
The  wintry  storm,  the  rush  of  vernal  floods. 
The  summer  bower,  by  cooling  breezes  fanned, 
The  torrent's  fall,  by  dancing  rainbows  spanned 
The  streamlet,  gurgling  through  its  rocky  glen, 
The  long  grass,  sighing  o'er  the  graves  of  men, 
The  bird  that  crests  yon  dew-bespangled  tree, 
Shakes  his  bright  plumes,  and  trills  his  descant  free, 
The  scorching  bolt,  that,  from  thine  armory  hurled, 
Burns  its  red  path,  and  cleaves  a  shrinking  world; 
All  these  are  music  to  Religion's  ear :  — 
Music,  thy  hand  awakes,  for  man  to  hear. 

767. 
Oh,  what  is  human  glory,  human  pride? 
What  are  man's  triumphs  when  they  brightest  seem  t 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  141 

What  art  thou,  mighty  one!  though  deified? 
Methuselah's  long  pilgrimage,  a  dream; 
Our  age  is  but  a  shade,  our  life  a  tale, 
A  vacant  fancy,  or  a  passing  gale 

Or  nothing !     'Tis  a  heavy,  hollow  ball. 

Suspended  on  a  slender,  subtile  hair, 

And  filled  with  storm  winds,  thunders,  passions,  all 

Struggling  within  in  furious  tumult  there. 

Strange  mystery  !  man's  gentlest  breath  can  shake  it, 

And  the  light  zephyrs  are  enough  to  break  it. 

768. 
Beneath  the  aged  oak  he  sleeps ;  — 

The  angel  of  his  childhood  there 
No  watch  around  his  tomb-stone  keeps ; 

But,  when  the  evening  stars  appear. 

The  woodman,  to  his  cottage  bound. 
Close  to  that  grave  is  wont  to  tread : 

But  his  rude  footsteps  echoed  round, 
Break  not  the  silence  of  the  dead. 

769. 
The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise. 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, — 

Their  lot  forbS.de  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined;  — 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
4.nd  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind  1 


LESSON    XXXVII. 

MONOTONE. 

In  the   previous  parts  of  this  book,  the  pupil  has  been  made   ac* 

Juaiiited  with  those  modifications  of  the  voice  called  the  rising  in- 
ection,  the  falling  inflection,  and  the  circumflex.*     There  is  another 

*  See  Lessons  1,  2,  and  22. 


142  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

modulation  of  the  voice,  which,  from  its  intimate  connexion  with  the 
reading  of  poetry  of  a  solemn  kind,  has  been  reserved  for  explanation 
m  this  place.  It  is  called  the  Monotone,  and  consists  of  a  degree  of 
sameness  of  sound,  or  tone,  in  a  number  of  successive  words  or  syl- 
lables. 

It  is  very  seldom  the  case  that  there  is  a  perfect  sameness  to  be  ob- 
served in  reading  any  sentence  or  part  of  a  sentence.  But  very 
little  variety  of  tone,  or,  in  other  words,  a  degree  of  the  monotone,  is 
to  be  used  in  reading  either  prose  or  verse,  which  contains  elevated 
descriptions,  or  emotions  of  solemnity,  sublimity,  or  reverence.  This 
monotone  should  generally  be  a  low  tone  of  the  voice.  Thus,  in  ad- 
dressing the  Deity,  in  the  following  lines,  a  degree  of  the  monotone 
is  to  be  used. 

770. 

O  Thou  Eternal  One !  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide ; 
Unchanged  through  time's  all  devastating  flight; 
Thou  only  God !     There  is  no  God  beside ! 
Being  above  all  beings!     Mighty  One! 
Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore ; 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  Thyself  alone  : 
Embracing  all,  —  supporting,  —  ruling  o'er  — 
Being  whom  we  call  God  —  and  know  no  more. 


The  monotone  is  also  to  be  used  in  the  following  extracts :  — 


771. 

High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  or  of  Ind  ; 
Or  where  the  gorgeous  East,  with  richest  hand, 
Showers,  on  her  kings  barbaric,  pearl  and  gold, 
Satan  exalted  sat. 

772. 

The  sky  is  changed !  and  such  a  change !     O  Night, 
And  Storm,  and  Darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman !     Far  along, 
From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 
Leaps  the  live  thunder!  —  not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue  ; 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud  I 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  143 

773. 
And  this  is  in  the  night :  —  most  glorious  night ! 
Thou  wert  not  made  for  slumber !  let  me  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  fair  delight, — 
A  portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee ! 
How  the  lit  lake  shines,  —  a  phosphoric  sea  — 
And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth ! 
And  now,  again,  'tis  black — and  now,  the  glee 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain  mirth, 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o'er  a  young  earthquake's  birth. 

774. 
Sky,  mountains,  river,  winds,  lake,  lightnings !  ye, 
With  night,  and  clouds,  and  thunder,  and  a  soul 
To  make  these  felt  and  feeling,  well  may  be 
Things  that  have  made  me  watchful :  the  far  roll 
Of  your  departing  voices  is  the  knoll 
Of  what  in  me  is  sleepless,  —  if  I  rest. 
But  where,  of  ye,  O  tempests !  is  the  goal  ? 
Are  ye  like  those  within  the  human  breast? 
Or  do  ye  find,  at  length,  like  eagles,  some  high  nest? 

775. 
And  in  the  bright  blaze  of  thy  festal  hall. 
When  vassals  kneel,  and  kindred  smile  around  thee, 
May  ruin'd  Bertram's  Pledge  hiss  in  thine  ear  — 
Joy  to  the  proud  dame  of  Saint  Aldobrand, 
Whilst  his  corse  doth  bleach  beneath  her  towers ! 

776. 
O  crested  Lochiel,  the  peerless  in  might. 
Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlement's  height. 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  burn  ! 
Return  to  thy  dwelling  !  all  lonely  return  ! 
For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it  stood. 
And  a  wild  mother's  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood. 

777. 
Oh,  when  he  comes, 
Rous'd  by  the  cry  of  wickedness  extreme, 
To  heaven  ascending  from  some  guilty  land, 
Now  ripe  for  vengeance ;  when  he  comes,  array'd 


144  INTRODUCTORY    LESSON?. 

In  all  the  terrors  of  Almighty  wrath,  — 
Forth  from  his  bosom  plucks  his  lingering  arm, 
And  on  the  miscreants  pours  destruction  down,  — 
Who  can  abide  his  coming  ?     Who  can  bear 
His  whole  displeasure  ? 

778. 
In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep 
falleth  on  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and  trembling,  which  made 
all  my  bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face ; 
the  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up  :  it  stood  still,  but  I  could  not 
discern  the  form  thereof :  an  image  was  before  mine  eyes,  there 
was  silence,  and  I  heard  a  voice,  saying,  Shall  mortal  man  be 
more  just  than  God  ?  shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his  Maker  ? 

The  monotone  may  with  good  effect  be  introduced  in  many  of  the  sen- 
tences contained  in  the  previous  pages  of  this  book,  especially  in  Numbers  614 
and  615,pagel01.  As  it  is  the  design  of  the  author,  in  these  pages,  to  furnish 
lessons  *  rather  than  exercises,  in  reading,  the  extracts  already  introduced 
will  be  sufficient  to  impress  the  principle  contained  in  this  lesson. 


LESSON    XXXVIII. 

ANALYSIS. 

The  rvord  ANALvsisf  means  the  separation  of  the  parts  of  which  a  thing 
is  composed. 

Every  sentence,  whether  it  be  a  long  or  a  short  one,  contains  one  prominent 
idea,  which,  by  a  proper  management  of  the  voice,  must  be  brought  out  into 
clear  and  distinct  notice.  It  sometimes  happens,  especially  in  very  long  sen- 
tences, that  the  prominent  idea  is  interrupted  or  obscured  by  parentheses, 
descriptions,  explanatory  remarks,  or  other  expressions,  which  render  il  difli- 
cult  for  the  reader  to  distinguish  the  most  important  part,  and  give  it  liiat 
prominence  which  it  deserves.  Herein  lies  the  greatest  difficulty  in  the  art 
of  reading.  No  rule  can  be  given  to  aid  the  pupil  in  the  discovery  of  the  prom- 
inent ideas  in  his  reading  lessons.  He  must  here  be  left  to  study  and  reflec- 
tion. The  information,  however,  that  there  are  such  prominent  ideas  in  com- 
plex sentences,  will  lead  him  to  endeavor  to  discover  them  ;  and  the  practice 
which  he  has  had  in  the  use  of  emphasis,  slur,  expression,  and  other  princi- 
ples contained  in  the  preceding  lessons,  will  enable  him  to  apply  himself  to  the 
study  of  such  sentences,  with  the  hope  of  distinguishing  the  parts  which  should 
be  brought  into  strong  light,  from  those  which  require  to  be  thrown  into  the 
shade.     To  aid  him  in  the  study,  a  few  examples  are  here  introduced. 

779. 
The  rivulet  sends  forth  glad  sounds,  and  tripping  o'er  its 
bed  of  pebbly  sands,  or  leaping  down  the  rocks,  seems  with 
continuous  laughter  to  rejoice  in  its  own  being. 

*  See  preface,  p.  5.     t  See  Parker's  Exercises  in  English  Composition,  p.  23. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSO^'S.  145 

in  this  sentence,  one  principal  ide.i  is  expressed,  namely,  that  the 
rivulet  sejul^-  forth  glad  smnids,  and  urems  to  rejoice  in  its  own  being. 
This  idea  must  therefore  be  brought  out  prominently  ;  while  the  ex- 
pressions tripping  o'er  its  bed  of  pebbly  sards,  and  leaping  dawn  ihe 
rocks,  are  merely  descriptions  of  the  appeara.xe  of  the  river,  and  need 
not  be  so  emphatically  marked.  The  same  remark  must  be  made 
with  regard  to  the  expression  with  continuous  laughter,  which  is  only 
an  explanation  of  the  manner  in  which  it  rejoices.  These  expressions 
may  be  slightly  slurred.* 

In  reading  the  sentence,  therefore,  he  will  express  it  as  follows,  pro- 
nouncing the  parts  in  Italic  letters  with  less  emphatic  force  than  t:ie 
prominent  idea. 

780 
The  rivulet  sends  forth  glad  sounds,  and  tripping  o'er  its 
bed  of  pebbly  sa?ids,  or  leaping  down  the  rocksy  seems  with 
continuous  laughter  to  rejoice  in  its  own  being,  t 

In  the  following  sentences,  all  the  parts,  except  the  prominent  ideas, 
are  printed  in  luJic  letters.  The  pupil  will  read  them  as  directed 
above. 

In  order  that  the  pupil  may  clearly  distinguish  the  prominent  parts, 
he  may  first  read  them  with  the  omission  of  the  parts  in  Italic  letters, 
and  afterwards  read  the  whole  of  each  sentence  as  it  stands 

781. 
There  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  mingled  security  and 
awe,  with  which  I  looked  Aovin  from  my  giddy  height  on  the 
monsters  of  the  deep  at  their  uncouth  gambols.  Shoals  of 
porpoises  tumbling  about  the  bows  of  the  ship ;  the  grampus 
slowly  heaving  his  huge  form  above  the  surface;  or  the  rave- 
nous shark,  darting  like  a  spectre  through  the  blue  waters. 

782. 
The  devout  hezxi, penetrated  with  large  and  affecting  views 
of  the  immensity  of  the  works  of  God,  the  harmony  (f  his 
laws,  and  the  extent  of  his  beneficence,  bursts  into  loud  find 
vocal  expressions  of  praise  and  adoration;  nnd  from  a  full 
and  overflowing  sensibility,  seeks  to  expand  itself  to  the  ut- 
most limits  of  creation. 

In  the  following  sentence,  the  pupil  may  read,  first,  that  only  which 
is  in  capital  letters;  then  all  but  the  Italic;  and,  thirdly,  the  wholfj 

*  See  Lesson  34. 

t  This  sentence  orrurs  on  the  1  loth  page, where  it  is  differently  marked.  It 
is  here  used  for  illustration  only.  Some  readers  may  prefer  one  mplhod,  and 
some  another ;  for  there  are  probably  few  who  would  read  any  passage  in 
exactly  the  same  manner. 

13 


146 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


sentence.     He  will  thus   distinguish  the  various  parts  of  a  complex 
sentence. 

783. 
CAN  HE,  who,  not  satisfied  with  the  wide  range  of  ani- 
mated existence^  calls  for  the  sympathy  of  the  inanimate  crea- 
tion, REFUSE   TO   WORSHIP  with  his  fellow-men? 

It  may  here  be  remarked,  that  the  most  prominent  part  sometimes 
consists  of  a  single  word,  or  perhaps  of  several  words,  which  cannot 
be  separated  from  the  connexion  in  which  they  stand,  as  in  the  fol 
lowing  example  :  — 

784. 
Oh,  days  of  ancient  GRANDEUR!  are  ye  GONE?  For- 
ever GONE  ?  Do  these  same  scenes  behold  his  OFF- 
SPRING here  the  HIRELING  of  a  FOE?  Oh  that  I 
KNEW  my  FATE!  that  I  could  READ  the  destiny  that 
Heaven  has  marked  for  me  ! 

785. 
WHENCE,  and  WHAT  art  thou,  EXECRABLE  shape' 
That  dar'st,  though  grim  and  terrible,  advance 
Thy  miscreated  front  athwart  my  way 

To  yonder  gates?     THROUGH  THEM  I  mean  to  PASS , 
That  be  assured,  without  leave  asked  of  thee : 
RETIRE,  or  taste  thy  FOLLY ;  and  learn  by  PROOF, 
Hell-born  !  not  to  contend  with  spirits  of  HEAVEN  ! 

786. 
What  means  this  SHOUTING?     I  do  fear,  the  people 
Choose  Caesar  for  their  KING. 
Ay,  do  you  FEAR  it? 

Then  must  I  think  you  WOULD  NOT  HAVE  it  so. 
I  would  NOT,  Cassius;  yet  I  LOVE  him  well. 

787. 
And  thus,  in  silent  waiting,  stood 
The  piles  of  stone,  and  piles  of  wood  ; 
Till  DEATH  — who,  in  his  vast  affairs, 
Ne'er  puts  things  off,  as  men  in  theirs ; 
And  thus,  if  I  the  truth  must  tell. 
Does  his  work  finally  and  well  — 
WINKED  at  our  hero  as  he  past, 
**  Your  house  is  finished,  sir,  at  last; 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  147 

A  narrower  house  —  a  house  of  clay  — 
Your  palace  for  another  day !  " 

In  the  analysis  of  a  sentence,  with  the  view  to  read  it  correctly, 
there  are  generally  three  things  to  be  considered  by  the  pupil ;  name- 
ly :  First,  What  are  the  most  prominent  parts,  or  those  which  require 
emphasis — Secondly,  What  parts  are  merely  explanatory,  and  co-iise- 
quently  are  to  he  slurred  or  thrown  into  shade — Thirdly,  What  parts, 
separated  by  explanatory,  descriptive,  or  other  circumstances,  are  inli' 
mutely  connected  with  each  other,  and  must  have  their  intimate  connex' 
ion  expressed  by  strong  emphasis,  or  by  slurring  the  parts  which  sep- 
arate them. 

The  pupil  may  analyze  the  following  sentences  ;  that  is  to  say,  he 
may  mark  and  read  those  parts  or  words  only  which  are  most  prom- 
inent, and  require  strong  emphasis.  He  may  then  mention  what  parts 
are  merely  explanatory,  <Jfec.  And  then  he  may  point  out  those  parts 
which,  though  distant  from  the  eye,  are  closely  connected  in  sense. 
Lastly,  he  may  read  each  sentence  as  it  stands,  endeavoring  to  manage 
the  emphasis,  slur,  and  expression,  in  the  manner  in  which  he  has 
heretofore  been  directed.* 

788. 
How  reverend  is  the  face  of  this  tall  pile, 
Whose  ancient  pillars  rear  their  marble  heads, 
To  bear  aloft  its  arch'd  t  and  ponderous  roof, 
By  its  own  weight  made  steadfast  and  immovable, 
Looking  tranquillity  !      It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aching  sight :  the  tombs 
And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  chillness  to  my  trembling  heart. 

789. 

0  Winter!  ruler  of  the  inverted  year  I 

Thy  scattered  hair  with  sleet,  like  ashes,  filled, 
Thy  breath  congealed  upon  thy  lips,  thy  cheeks 
Fringed  with  a  beard  made  white  with  other  snows 
Than  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapt  in  clouds, 
A  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  thy  throne 
A  sliding  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels. 
But  urged  by  storms  along  its  slippery  way, 

1  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st,t 
And  dreaded  as  thou  art. 

*  It  is  rerominended  that  the  pupil  be  required  to  write  a  few  of  these  sen- 
tences in  the  manner  directed  above,  ujiderscoring  with  a  single  line  such 
parts  as  are  to  be  in  Italic  letters,  wiili  a  double  line  such  as  should  be  in  small 
capitals,  and  with  three  lines  sucli  as  should  be  in  large  capitals.  See  Parker 
and  Fox's  Grammar,  Part  III.,  page  39. 

t  The  pupil  M'ill  ot\en  notice  in  poetry  such  abbreviations  as  these,  where 
the  apostrophe  shows  that  some  letter  is  left  out.     [See  Lesson  20,  page  63.] 


148 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


790. 

Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England;  if  their  lungs 
Receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  free  : 
They  touch  our  country,  and  their  shackles  fall. 
That's  noble,  and  bespeaks  a  nation  proud 
And  jealous  of  the  blessing.     Spread  it  then, 
And  let  it  circulate  through  every  vein 
Of  all  your  empire  ;  that  where  Britain's  power 
Is  felt,  mankind  may  feel  her  mercy  too. 

791. 
Trifles,  light  as  air, 
Are,  to  the  jealous,  confirmations  strong 
As  proofs  of  holy  writ. 

Dangerous  conceits  are,  in  their  natures,  poisons, 
Which,  at  the  first,  are  scarce  found  to  distaste. 
But,  with  a  little  act  upon  the  blood. 
Burn  like  the  mines  of  sulphur. 

792. 
I  come  no  more  to  make  you  laugh;  things  now, 
That  bear  a  weighty  and  a  serious  brow, 
Sad,  high,  and  working,  full  of  state  and  woe. 
Such  noble  scenes,  as  draw  the  eye  to  flow. 
We  now  present.     Those,  that  can  pity,  here 
May,  if  they  think  it  well,  let  fall  a  tear  ; 
The  subject  will  deserve  it. 

793. 

Thou  hast  it  now.  King,  Cawdor,  Glaniis,  all, 
As  the  weird  women  promised  ;  and  I  fear. 
Thou  play'dst  most  foully  for  it:  yet  it  was  said. 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  posterity ; 
But  that  myself  should  be  the  root  and  fiither 
Of  many  kings.     If  there  come  truth  from  them, 
(As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine,) 
Why,  by  the  verities  made  good. 
May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well, 
And  set  me  up  in  hope  ? 

Thus  arch'd  for  arched,  slijrp'i-y  for  slippery,  seem'st  for  seemest.  These  ab- 
breviations are  generally  made  for  ihe  purpose  of  shortening  the  word,  and 
thereby  preserving  tlie  measure  of  the  verse.  But  ihey  are  very  seldom  allowed 
in  prose.     See  Parker  and  Fox's  Grammar,  Part  III.,  No.  207,  &c. 


INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS.  149 

794. 
Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day, 
For  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal, 
But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal. 
'Tis  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore, 
And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 
I  tell  thee,  Culloden's*  dread  echoes  shall  ring 
With  the  blood-hounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive  king. 

795. 
Lo !  anointed  by  Heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 
Behold,  where  lie  flies  on  his  desolate  path ! 
Now  in  darkness  and  billows  he  sweeps  from  my  sight : 
Rise !  rise !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight ! 
'Tis  finished.     Their  thunders  are  hushed  on  the  moors, 
Cullodea  is  lost,  and  mv  country  deplores. 

796. 
Impose  upon  me  whatever  hardships  you  please ;  give  me 
nothing  but  the  bread  of  sorrow  to  eat;  take  from  me  the 
friends  in  whom  I  had  placed  my  confidence;  lay  me  in  ihe 
cold  hut  of  poverty,  and  on  the  thorny  bed  of  disease;  set 
death  before  me  in  all  its  terrors;  do  all  this,  —  only  let  me 
trust  in  my  Savior,  and  I  will  fear  no  evil,  —  I  will  rise  supe- 
rior to  affliction,  —  I  will  rejoice  in  my  tribulation. 

797. 
The  Highlands  of  Scotland  are  a  picturesque,  but  in  gen- 
eral a  melancholy,  country.  Long  tracts  of  mountainous 
desert  covered  with  dark  heath,  and  often  obscured  by  misty 
weather ;  narrow  valleys,  thinly  inhabited,  and  bounded  by 
precipices  resounding  with  the  fall  of  torrents ;  a  soil  so 
rugged,  and  a  clime  so  dreary,  as  in  many  parts  to  admit 
neither  the  amusements  of  pasturage,  nor  the  labors  of  agri- 
culture; the  mournful  dashing  of  waves  along  the  friths  and 
lakes  that  intersect  the  country;  the  portentous  noises  which 
every  change  of  the  wind,  and  every  increase  and  diminution 
of  the  waters,  is  apt  to  raise  in  a  lonely  region,  full  of  echoes, 
and  rocks,  and  caverns;  the  grotesque  and  ghastly  appear- 
ance of  such  a  landscape  by  the  light  of  the  moon  ;  objects 
like  these  diffuse  a  gloom  over  the  fancy,  which  may  be 

*  Pronounced  Cullod'en's. 


150  TNTRODLTTORY    LESSONS. 

compatible  enough  with  occasional  and  social  merriment, 
but  cannot  fail  to  tincture  the  thoughts  even  of  au  ordinary 
native  in  the  hour  of  silence  and  solitude. 

798.* 

To  be  —  or  not  to  be  —  that  is  the  question  — 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer 

The  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 

Or  to  take  arms  against  assail  t  of  troubles, 

And,  by  opposing,  end  them?  —  To  die,  —  to  sleep, — 

No  more ;  and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 

The  heartache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to,  — 'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished. 

799. 

To  die  ;  —  to  sleep ;  — 
To  sleep  !  perchance  to  dream ;  —  ay,  there's  the  rub ; 
For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come. 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
Must  give  us  pause  :    There's  the  respect. 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life: 
For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time. 
The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely. 
The  pangs  of  despised  |  love,  the  law's  delay. 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes, 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin?     Who  would  fardels  bear. 
To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life ; 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death,  — 
The  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns,  —  puzzles  the  will; 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have. 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of? 

*  In  reading-  this  extract,  the  pupil  must  recall  to  mind  the  remarks  made  on 
the  69th  pag^e,  relating  to  accent. 

t  111  most  of  the  editions  of  Shakspeare  we  read,  "  to  take  arms  agciinst  a 
sen  of  troubles  5 "  but  this  expression  is  a  manifest  violation  of  all  rhetorical 
rule.  [See  Progressive  Exercises  in  English  Composition,  Lesson  25,  p.  49.] 
The  improved  reading  in  this  passage  is  taken  from  Steele's  ''  Prosodia  Ra 
tionalis,"  a  work  already  referred  to  m  a  preceding  note. 

i  See  note  to  No.  761. 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  151 

800. 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all, 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
With  this  regard,  tlieir  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action. 


LESSON    XXXIX. 

Blending    of  words    produced    by    ac- 
cented FORCE. 

Under  the  head  of  accented  forcc^  Mr.  Walker,  in  his 
Rhetorical  Grammar,  has  noticed  the  peculiar  manner  in 
which  words,  or  parts  of  different  words,  are  sometimes 
blended,  so  as  to  appear  in  pronunciation  like  a  single  word. 
Thus  the  sentence,  "  Censure  is  the  tax  a  man  pays  to  the 
public  for  being  eminent,"  when  it  is  read  with  a  proper 
regard  to  the  measure  of  speech,  accent,  emphasis,  &/C.,  will 
appear  as  if  it  were  written  thus :  — 

801. 

Censure  isthetax  amanpays  tothepublic 

forbeingeminent. 

It  will  be  needless  to  insert  any  extracts  for  the  exercise 
of  the  pupil  in  this  principle.  The  teacher  will  select  from 
any  part  of  the  book  such  sentences  for  him  to  read  as  will 
enable  him  readily  to  perceive  the  difference  between  ac- 
cented words  and  accented  syllables. 

It  may  here  be  remarked,  that  most  kinds  of  reading  are  included  in 
the  three  terms  Nakrative,  Dkscriptive,  and  Expressivk  ;  each 
of  which  is  respectively  characterized  by  its  appropriate  degree  of  ac- 
cented force  ;  and  it  is  proper  that  the  pupil,  in  studying  a  reading 
lesson,  should  endeavor  to  discern  under  which  head  his  lesson  is  in- 
cluded, in  order  to  adapt  his  style  of  reading  to  the  character  of  the 


152 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


piece.  On  this  subject  much  has  been  said  in  the  previous  lessons  of  this 
book.  It  remains  for  the  pupil,  who  has  gone  through  these  les.sons  in 
course,  to  endeavor  to  ap])ly  the  instructions  given  him,  in  all  the  various 
kinds  of  reading  in  which  he  may  be  exercised.  If  he  has  a  correct  ear, 
be  will  not  fail  to  oltserve  that  both  the  rising  and  falling  inflections  of  the 
voice  admit  of  different  degrees.  These  are  technically  described  in  Dr. 
Barber's  Grammar  of  Elocution,  and  more  fully  developed  in  the  respec- 
tive works  of  Dr.  Rush  and  Mr.  Steele,  to  which  reference  has  already 
been  made.  The  subject  is  also  particularly  noticed  in  VValker's  Rhetor- 
ical Grammar.  In  these  exercises,  it  is  deemed  inexpedient  to  present  any 
intricate  views  of  the  subject ;  but,  after  the  statement  of  a  principle,  to 
It-ave  the  pupil  to  the  guidance  of  Nature.     [See  preface  and  tille-pa^e.] 


LESSON    XL. 


IMPROVEMENT    OF    THE    VOICE. 


The  voice,  like  all  the  other  faculties  of  the  body  or  the  mind,  is 
susceptible  of  great  improvement;  and  under  proper  management, 
one  that  is  naturally  feeble  may  be  rendered  more  effective  than  an- 
other, which  is  endowed  with  great  strength.  The  two  most  important 
requisites  in  a  good  voice  are  clearness  and  strength.  In  the 
twenty-fiflh  lesson  of  this  book,  some  exercises  are  presented  with  the 
design  to  accustom  the  pupil  to  distinct  articulation.  If  he  has  passed 
over  that  lesson  with  little  attention,  he  is  advised  to  return  to  it; 
and,  by  persevering  practice,  acquire  a  facility  in  the  pronunciation  of 
those  sounds  which  are  represented  by  the  combination  of  the  con- 
sonants alone.  In  connexion  with  this  exercise,  he  is  advised  to 
practise  the  vowel  sounds,  in  the  manner  which  shall  presently  be 
pointed  out. 


The  Sounds  of  the  Vowels  are  as  follows  :  — 


a    as  heard  in  the  word 


fate 

0 

far 

o 

fall 

o 

fat 

u 

me 

u 

met 

u 

pine 

oi 

pin 
no 

ou 

as  heard  in  the  word 


rord 

move 

(( 

nor 

(( 

not 

(( 

tube 

(( 

tub 

(( 

bull 

u 

voice 

« 

sound 

INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


153 


The  Sounds  of  the  Consonants  are  a^  follows  :  — 


b 

as  in 

bible 

rob 

t 

as  in 

tool 

not 

d 

i(  « 

dare 

bed 

V 

t(  (< 

vine 

have 

f 

((     u 

fate 

brief 

w 

((    u 

wine 

I 

ffone 
hand 

brag 

X 

y 

example 
yes 

i 

((    <( 

jade 
kind 

z 

((   (( 

zone 

adze 

((   (( 

sick 

ch 

((   (( 

chair 

church 

1 

((    « 

land 

ball 

ng 

((   (( 

long 

m 

C<     (( 

mine 

him 

sh 

((    u 

shine 

hush 

n 

«  (( 

now 

pin 

th 

t(   (( 

thou 

P 

((  (( 

put 

lip 

th 

aspirate 

thin 

q 

((   (( 

quince 

wh 

u  u 

when 

r 

((   (1 

ring 

bar 

zh 

((  (( 

azure 

8 

i(   « 

since 

kiss 

These  sounds  of  the  vowels  and  consonants  should  be  uttered  in 
various  ways. 

Ist.  Let  the  pupil  practise  what  is  called  exploding*  them  ;  that  is, 
let  him  pronounce  each  of  them  in  a  quick,  sudden  manner,  like  the 
report  of  a  pistol. 

2d.  Let  him  prolong  the  same  sounds,  with  care,  to  preserve  their 
purity. 

3d.  Let  him  practise  both  the  abrupt  and  the  prolonged  sounds  of 
each,  in  conjunction  with  the  consonants,  and  the  combination  of  the 
consonants  presented  in  Lesson  25. 

4th.  Let  him  practise  all  the  above-mentioned  sounds,  in  each  of  the 


*  "  This  practice,"  says  Dr.  Barber,  "  will  be  found  a  more  eflTeotua!  method 
than  any  blhor  of  obtaining  a  strong'  and  powerful  voice  —  of  strengthening 
such  voices  as  are  feeble,  and  of  giving  fulness  and  sirt  nglh  of  tone  to  all  in 
proportion  to  their  natural  capacities.'  He  adds,  immediately  after,  "The 
student  has  not  obtained  that  use  of  his  voice  which  it  is  the  object  of  diis 
table  to  teach  him,  until  every  sound  it  contains  caji  be  uttered  with  the  sud- 
denness of  the  report  of  fire-arms,  without  ajiy  apparent  eflbrt  preceding  the 
explosion,  with  a  very  high  degree  of  percussive  force,  and  with  strength  and 
fulness  of  tone."  Again,  he  says  in  another  place,  "  We  know  tiiat  persons 
with  feeble  voices  have  been  rendered  capable  of  speaking  forcibly  ajid  im- 
pressively in  public,  by  a  perseverajice  in  the  practice  here  recommended." 
—  Gram,  of  Elocution,  p.  30.  —  Dr.  Barber's  work  cannot  be  too  highly  recom- 
mended to  all  who  would  pursue  this  subject  scientifically.  In  this  lesson  the 
author  has  departed  in  some  respects  from  the  arrangement  of  the  vowel 
sounds,  as  presented  in  the  tables  of  Dr.  Barber,  and  adopted  that  which  is 
contained  in  the  spelling  books  commonly  used.  These  lessons  are  designed 
principally  as  an  introduction  to  the  subject,  and  not  as  a  full  treatise.  They 
who  have  leisure  for  a  more  extended  view,  are  referred  to  Dr.  Barber's 
Grammar,  and  to  the  very  able,  scientific,  and  more  voluminous  work  to 
which  reference  has  been  already  made  —  Dr.  Rush  on  "  The  Philosophy  of  the 
Human  Voice."  Mr.  Steele's  work,  entitled  "  Prosodia  Rationalis,"  is  like- 
wise well  worthy  tlie  attention  of  those  who  would  acquire  a  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  the  powers  and  peculiarities  of  the  human  voice. 


154  INTRODUCTORY   LESSONS. 

different  pitches  or  keys  of  the  voice,  mentioned  in  Lesson  27,  p.  95 ; 
and  likewise  in  a  whisper.  * 

Among  the  consonants  there  are  two  which  require  particular  atten- 
tion, namely,  I  and  r  ;  and  if  there  are  any  letters,  the  correct  and  dis- 
tinct articulation  of  which  distinguish  a  good  from  a  bad  pronuncia- 
tion, they  are  these  two. 

It  is  recommended  that  the  pupil  be  thoroughly  exercised  in  the 
pronunciation  of  words  which  contain  these  letters,  especially  the  r. 
This  letter  has  two  sounds,  called  the  smooth  and  the  vibrant.  The 
vibrant  r  is  pronounced  by  what  is  frequently  called  rolling  the  tongue. 
This  sound,  when  properly  made,  is  one  which  is  highly  pleasing  to 
the  ear ;  but  when  too  much  prolonged,  it  becomes  harsh  and  offensive, 
and  is  suited  only  for  a  rough  or  energetic  utterance.  Dr.  Rush  says 
that  it  "  will  be  agreeable  when  it  consists  of  one,  or  at  most  two  or 
three  strokes  and  rebounds  of  the  tongue." 

The  smooth  r  is  that  sound  which  is  heard  in  the  words  hard^  card^ 
hard.  In  such  words  it  savors  of  affectation  or  provincialism  to  sub- 
stitute the  vibrant  r 


EXERCISE  ON  THE  SOUNDS  OF  L   AND  R. 

802. 
The  lordly  lion  leaves  his  lonely  lair. 

803. 
He  was  long,  lean,  and  lank,  and  laughed  loudly. 

804. 
How  sweetly  slow  the  liquid  lay 
In  holy  hallelujahs  rose! 

805. 
Let  lords  and  ladies  laugh  and  sing 

As  loudly  and  as  light; 
We  beggars,  too,  can  dance,  and  fling 

Dull  care  a  distant  flight. 

806. 
Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless  king. 


*  The  importance  of  clear  and  distinct  utterance  will  be  seen  by  the  follow- 
ing sentences,  in  wliich  the  meaning-  depends  upon  it : 

That  lasts  till  night. 

That  last  still  night. 
Who  ever  imagined  such  a  notion  to  exist  ? 
Who  ever  imagined  such  an  oceeui  to  exist  ' 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS.  155 

807. 
Around  the  hearth  the  crackling  fagots  blaze. 


Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 
The  armed  rhinoceros,  the  Ilyrcan  tiger. 

809. 
The  master  current  of  her  mind 
Ran  permanent  and  free. 

Round  rugged  rocks,  rude  ragged  rascals  ran. 
Lean  liquid  lays  like  lightly  lulling  lakes. 

Aher  the  pupil  has  sufficiently  practised  the  utterance  of  the  various 
sounds  of  vowels  and  consonants,  both  separately  and  in  combination, 
it  is  recommended  that  lie  daily  exercise  himself  in  reading  or  speak 
ing  with  all  his  powers  of  loudness  and  force.  This  habit  will  coa 
tribute  much  to  the  acquisition  of  strength  of  voice.  But  above  all, 
let  him  remember  that  distinctness  of  articulation  is  ol  the  utmost  im- 
portance in  utterance  ;  and  that  a  weak  voice  with  this  quality  can 
be  heard  and  understood  at  a  much  greater  distance  than  a  strong  one 
without  it. 

Again  ;  the  pupil  will  find  much  benefit  in  the  practice  of  swelling 
and  diminishing  the  power  of  his  voice.  For  this  purpose,  let  him  be- 
gin a  long  sentence  softly,  slowly,  and  in  a  low  tone,  and  gradually 
swell  his  voice  in  pitch,  power,  and  rapidity,  till  he  has  attained  the 
utmost  extent  of  those  qualities  of  which  it  is  susceptible ;  and  then 
let  it  descend  and  fade  away  by  degrees,  till  it  becomes  almost  imper- 
ceptible. 

And,  lastly,  reading  with  rapidity  (simply  as  an  exercise  of  the  voice) 
will  contribute  much  to  the  ease  and  power  of  utterance.  But  the 
pupil  must  never  allow  his  words  to  pass  from  his  mouth  indistinctly. 
How  rapidly  soever  he  may  read,  as  an  exercise,  he  must  be  careful 
to  give  each  syllable  and  each  letter  its  distinct  appropriate  sound. 

To  these  directions  for  the  improvement  of  the  voice  may  be  added 
-the  caution  to  open  the  mouth,  when  speaking,  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
afford  an  easy  passage  for  the  sound.  Many  persons  have  contracted 
a  habit  of  reading  and  speaking  with  the  lips  compressed  in  such  a 
manner  as  entirely  to  alter  the  tone  of  the  voice  and  destroy  its  dis- 
tinctness of  utterance.  This  caution  must  be  particularly  regarded  by 
all  who  aim  at  excellence  in  the  Art  of  Reading. 

Dr.  Rush  has  described  four  different  kinds  of  voice  ;  namely,  the 
Natural,  the  Falsette,  the  Whispering,  and  the  Orotund,  which 
he  thus  describes  :  ^ 

The  Natural  voice  is  that  which  we  employ  in  ordinary  speaking. 

The  Falsette  is  that  peculiar  voice  in  which  the  higher  degrees 
of  pitch  are  made,  after  the  natural  voice  breaks,  or  outruns  its  power. 
The  cry,  scream,  yell,  and  all  shrillness,  are  various  modes  of  the 
falsette. 


156 


INTRODUCTORY    LESSONS. 


The  Whispering  voice  needs  no  description  ;  but  it  may  be  ob- 
served that  some  persons  are  endowed  with  such  clearness  and  dis- 
tinctness in  this  kind  of  voice,  that  they  can  make  themselves  heard 
at  a  great  distance  when  speaking  in  this  way. 

By  the  Orotund  voice  is  meant  that  natural  or  improved  manner 
of  uttering  the  elements,  which  exhibits  them  with  a  fulness,  clearness, 
strength,  smoothness,  and  a  ringing  or  musical  quality,  rarely  heard  in 
ordinary  speech  ;  but  which  is  never  found  in  its  highest  excellence,  ex- 
cept through  long  and  careful  cultivation. 

In  conclusion,  it  may  be  stated,  that  all  who  aim  at  excellence  as 
Readers  and  Speakers,  should  endeavor  to  attain  this  last-described 
quality  of  voice.*  For  their  encouragement  it  may  be  added,  that  it 
has  frequently  been  acquired  by  those  whose  voices  were  naturally 
weak  and  ineffective,  and  that  no  one,  therefore,  should  despair  of 
the  attainment,  —  for  what  man  has  done,  man  can  do. 

*  Among  tlie  refinements  in  pronuncialion,  at  which  the  careful  student  of 
the  art  of  rhetorical  reading  should  aim,  may  be  particularly  mentioned  ihe 
legitimate  sounds  of  e  and  i,  in  such  words  as  earth,  mercy,  mirth,  birth,  &c., 
which  are  too  commonly  pronounced  as  if  they  were  spell  urth,  murcy,  murth, 
burth.  In  the  word  vieHt,  the  e  always  receives  its  proper  sound.  The  same 
syllable  mer,  common  both  to  the  words  merit  and  mercy,  should  have  the 
same  pronunciation  in  both  words ;  and  the  reader,  by  carefully  noticing  this 
fact,  will  find  litde  difficulty  in  attaining  the  correct  pronunciation  of  the  e,  in 
the  words  to  which  reference  has  been  made.  The  proper  sound  of  the  i,  like- 
wise, in  the  words  above  mentioned,  approaches  nearer  to  the  sound  of  short  < 
than  to  that  of  u. 


EXERCISES  IN   RHETORICAL   READING. 


EXERCISE  I. 

The  Structure  of  Animals. 

Those  who  were  skilful  in  anatomy  among  the  ancients 
concluded,  from  the  outward  and  inward  make  of  a  human 
body,  that  it  was  the  work  of  a  being  transcendently  wise 
and  powerful.  As  the  world  grew  more  enlightened  in 
5  this  art,  their  discoveries  gave  them  fresh  opportunities  of 
admiring  the  conduct  of  Providence  in  the  formation  of  a 
human  body.  Galen  was  converted  by  his  dissections, 
and  could  not  but  own  a  Supreme  Being  upon  a  survey  of 
his  handiwork. 

10  There  were,  indeed,  many  parts  of  which  the  old  anato- 
mists did  not  know  the  certain  use  ;  but  as  they  saw  that 
most  of  those  which  they  examined  were  adapted  with 
admirable  art  to  their  several  functions,  they  did  not  ques- 
tion that  those  whose  uses  they  could  not  determine  were 

15  contrived  with  the  same  wisdom  for  respective  ends  and 
purposes.  Since  the  circulation  of  the  blood  has  been 
found  out,  and  many  other  great  discoveries  have  been 
made  by  our  modern  anatomists,  we  see  new  wonders  in 
the  human  frame,  and  discern  several  important  uses  for 

20  those  parts,  which  uses  the  ancients  knew  nothing  of. 

In  short,  the  body  of  man  is  such  a  subject  as  stands 
the  utmost  test  of  examination.  Though  it  appears  formed 
with  the  nicest  wisdom  upon  the  most  superficial  survey 
of  it,  it  still  mends  upon  the  search,  and  produces  our  sur- 

25  prise  and  amazement  in  proportion  as  we  pry  into  it. 
What  I  have  here  said  of  a  human  body  may  be  applied 
to  the  body  of  every  animal  which  has  been  the  subject 
of  anatomical  observations. 

The  body  of  an  animal  is  an  object  adequate  to  our 

30  senses.     It  is  a  particular  system  of  Providence,  that  lies 
in  a  narrow  compass.     The  eye  is  able  to  command  it, 
and  by  successive  inquiries  can  search  into  all  its  parts. 
14 


158  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  i. 

Could  the  body  of  the  whole  earth,  or  indeed  the  whole 
universe,  be  thus  submitted  to  the  examination  of  our 
senses,  were  it  not  too  big  and  disproportioned  for  our 
inquiries,  too  unwieldy  for  the  management  of  the  eye 
5  and  hand,  there  is  no  question  but  it  would  appear  to  us 
as  curious  and  well  contrived  a  frame  as  that  of  a  human 
body.  We  should  see  the  same  concatenation  and  subser- 
viency, the  same  necessity  and  usefulness,  the  same  beauty 
and  harmony  in  all  and  every  of  its  parts,  as  what  we 

10  discover  in  the  body  of  every  single  animal. 

The  more  extended  our  reason  is,  and  the  more  able  to 
grapple  with  immense  objects,  the  greater  still  are  those 
discoveries  which  it  makes  of  wisdom  and  providence  in 
the  works  of  the  creation.     A  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who 

15  stands  up  as  a  miracle  of  the  present  age,  can  look  through 
a  whole  planetary  system  ;  consider  it  in  its  weight,  num- 
ber and  measure  ;  and  draw  from  it  as  many  demonstra- 
tions of  infinite  power  and  wisdom  as  a  more  confined 
understanding  is  able  to  deduce  from  the  system  of  a 

20  human  body. 

But  to  return  to  our  speculative  anatomy.  I  shall  here 
consider  the  fabric  and  texture  of  the  body  of  animals  in 
one  particular  view,  which,  in  my  opinion,  shows  the  hand 
of  a  thinking  and  all-wise  Being  in  their  formation,  with 

25  the  evidence  of  a  thousand  demonstrations.  I  think  we  may 
lay  this  down  as  an  incontested  principle,  that  chance  never 
acts  in  a  perpetual  uniformity  and  consistence  with  itself. 
If  one  should  always  fling  the  same  number  with  ten 
thousand  dice,  or  see  every  throw  just  five  times  less,  or 

30  five  times  more  in  number  than  the  throw  which  immedi- 
ately preceded  it,  who  would  not  imagine  there  was  some 
invisible  power  which  directed  the  cast  ? 

This  is  the  proceeding  which  we  find  in  the  operations 
of  nature.     Every  kind  of  animal  is  diversified  by  differ- 

35  ent  magnitudes,  each  of  which  gives  rise  to  a  different 
species.  Let  a  man  trace  the  dog  or  lion  kind,  and  he 
will  observe  how  many  of  the  works  of  nature  are  pub- 
lished, if  I  may  use  the  expression,  in  a  variety  of  editions. 
If  we  look  into  the  reptile  world,  or  into  those  diflTerent 

40  kinds  of  animals  that  fill  the  element  of  water,  we  meet 
with  the  same  repetitions  among  several  species,  that  dif- 
fer very  little  from  one  another  but  in  size  and  bulk. 
You  find  the  same  creature  that  is  drawn  at  large  copied 
out  in  several  proportions,  and  ending  in  miniature. 


EX.  I.]  RHETORICAL   READING  159 

It  would  be  tedious  to  produce  instances  of  this  regular 
conduct  in  Providence,  as  it  would  be  superfluous  to  those 
who  are  versed  in  the  natural  history  of  animals.  The 
magnificent  harmony  of  the  universe  is  such  that  we  may 
5  observe  innumerable  divisions  running  upon  the  same 
ground.  I  might  also  extend  this  speculation  to  the  dead 
parts  of  nature,  in  which  we  may  find  matter  disposed 
into  many  similar  systems,  as  well  in  our  survey  of  stars 
and  planets,  as  of  stones,  vegetables,  and  other  sublunary 

10  parts  of  the  creation. 

In  a  word,  Providence  has  shown  the  richness  of  its 
goodness  and  wisdom,  not  only  in  the  production  of 
many  original  species,  but  in  the  multiplicity  of  descants 
which  it  has  made  on  every  original  species  in  particular. 

15  But  to  pursue  this  thought  still  further.     Every  living 

creature,  considered  in  itself,  has  many  very  complicated 

parts,  that  are  exact  copies  of  some  other  parts  which  it 

possesses,  which  are  complicated  in  the  same  manner. 

One  eye  would  have  been  sufficient  for  the  subsistence 

20  and  preservation  of  an  animal ;  but  in  order  to  better  his 
condition,  we  see  another  placed  with  a  mathematical 
exactness  in  the  same  most  advantageous  situation,  and  in 
every  particular  of  the  same  size  and  texture.  Is  it  possi- 
ble for  chance  to  be  thus  delicate  and  uniform  in  her  oper- 

25  ations  ?  Should  a  million  of  dice  turn  up  twice  together 
the  same  number,  the  wonder  would  be  nothing  in  com- 
parison with  this. 

But  when  we  see  this  similitude  and  resemblance  in  the 
arm,  the  hand,  the  fingers  ;   when  we  see  one  half  of  the 

30  body  entirely  correspond  with  the  other  in  all  those  mi- 
nute strokes,  without  which  a  man  might  have  very  well 
subsisted  ;  nay,  when  we  often  see  a  single  part  repeated 
a  hundred  times  in  the  same  body,  notwithstanding  it 
consists  of  the  most  intricate  weaving  of  numberless  fibres, 

35  and  these  parts  differing  still  in  magnitude,  as  the  conven- 
ience of  their  particular  situation  requires ;  sure  a  man 
must  have  a  strange  cast  of  understanding  who  does  not 
discover  the  finger  of  God  in  so  wonderful  a  work. 

These  duplicates  in  those  parts  of  the  body,  without 

40  which  a  man  might  have  very  well  subsisted,  though  not 
so  well  as  with  them,  are  a  plain  demonstration  of  an  all- 
wise  Contriver ;  as  those  more  numerous  copyings,  which 
are  found  among  the  vessels  of  the  same  body,  are  evident 
demonstrations  that  they  could  not  be  the  work  of  chance. 


160  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  n. 

This  argument  receives  additional  strength,  if  we  apply 
it  to  every  animal  and  insect  within  our  knowledge, 
as  well  as  to  those  numberless  living  creatures  that  are 
objects  too  minute  for  a  human  eye  ;  and  if  we  consider 

5  how  the  several  species  in  this  whole  world  of  life  resem- 
ble one  another,  in  very  many  particulars,  so  far  as  is  con- 
venient for  their  respective  states  of  existence,  it  is  much 
more  probable  that  a  hundred  million  of  dice  should  be 
casually  thrown  a  hundred  million  of  times  in  the  same 

10  number,  than  that  the  body  of  any  single  animal  should 
be  produced  by  the  fortuitous  concourse  of  matter.  And 
that  the  like  chance  should  arise  in  innumerable  instances, 
requires  a  degree  of  credulity  that  is  not  under  the  direc- 
tion of  common  sense. — Spectator. 


EXERCISE  II. 
Philosophy. 

15  "With  thee,  serene  Philosophy,  with  thee, 

And  thy  bright  garland,  let  me  crown  my  song! 
Tutored  by  thee,  hence  Poetry  exalts 
Her  voice  to  ages,  and  informs  the  page 
With  music,  image,  sentiment  and  thought, 

20         Never  to  die  !  the  treasure  of  mankind! 
Their  highest  honor,  and  their  truest  joy ! 

Without  thee  what  were  unenlightened  man  ? 
A  savage  roaming  through  the  woods  and  wilds, 
In  quest  of  prey ;  and  with  the  unfashioned  fur 

25         Rough  clad ;  devoid  of  every  finer  art 
And  elegance  of  life. 

Nor  happiness 
Domestic,  mixed  of  tenderness  and  care, 
Nor  moral  excellence,  nor  social  bliss, 

30         Nor  guardian  law  were  his, — nor  various  skill 
To  turn  the  furrow,  or  to  guide  the  tool 
Mechanic  ;  nor  the  heaven-conducted  prow 
Of  navigation  bold,  that  fearless  braves 

35         The  burning  line,  or  dares  the  wintry  pole. 
Mother  severe  of  infinite  delights  ! 
Nothing,  save  rapine,  indolence  and  guile, 
And  woes  on  woes,  a  still  revolving  train ! 
Whose  horrid  circle  had  made  human  life 


EX.  II.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  161 

Than  non-existence  worse  ;  but,  taught  by  thee, 

Ours  are  the  plans  of  policy  and  peace ; 

To  live  like  brothers,  and  conjunctive  all 

Embellish  life. 
5  While  thus  laborious  crowds 

Ply  the  tough  oar.  Philosophy  directs 

The  ruling  helm  ;  or  like  the  liberal  breath 

Of  potent  heaven,  invisible,  the  sail 

Swells  out,  and  bears  the  inferior  world  along. 
10  Nor  to  this  evanescent  speck  of  earth 

Poorly  confined,  the  radiant  tracks  on  high 

Are  her  exalted  range ;  intent  to  gaze 

Creation  through  ;  and,  from  that  full  complex 

Of  never-ending  wonders,  to  conceive 
15         Of  the  Sole  Being  right,  who  spoke  the  word 

And  Nature  moved  complete. 

With  inward  view, 

Thence  on  the  ideal  kingdom  swift  she  turns 

Her  eye ;  and  instant,  at  her  powerful  glance, 
20         The  obedient  phantoms  vanish  or  appear ; 

Compound,  divide,  and  into  order  shift, 

Each  to  his  rank,  from  plain  perception  up 

To  the  fair  forms  of  Fancy's  fleeting  train ; 

To  reason,  then,  deducing  truth  from  truth, 
25         And  notion  quite  abstract ;  where  first  begins 

The  world  of  spirits,  action  all,  and  life 

Unfettered  and  unmixed. 

But  here  the  cloud 

(So  wills  eternal  Providence)  sits  deep  ; 
30         Enough  for  us  to  know  that  this  dark  state. 

In  wayward  passions  lost,  and  vain  pursuits, 

This  infancy  of  being,  cannot  prove 

The  final  issue  of  the  works  of  God, 

By  boundless  love  and  perfect  wisdom  formed, 
35         And  ever  rising  with  the  rising  mind.  ThoTnson, 


EXERCISE  m. 

Scale  of  Beings. 

Though  there  is  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  contemplat- 
ing the  material  world,  —  by  which  I  mean  that  system  of 
bodies  into  which  nature  has  so  curiously  wrought  the 
14# 


162  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  ui. 

mass  of  dead  matter,  with  the  several  relations  that  those 
bodies  bear  to  one  another,  —  there  is  still,  methinks,  some- 
thing more  wonderful  and  surprising-,  in  contemplations 
on  the  world  of  life ;  by  which  1  understand,  all  those 

5  animals  with  which  every  part  of  the  universe  is  fur- 
nished. The  material  world  is  only  the  shell  of  the  uni- 
verse ;  the  world  of  life  are  its  inhabitants. 

If  we  consider  those  parts  of  the  material  world  which 
lie   the  nearest  to  us,  and  are  therefore   subject  to  our 

10  observations  and  inquiries,  it  is  amazing  to  consider  the 
infinity  of  animals  with  which  they  are  stocked.  Every 
part  of  matter  is  peopled ;  every  green  leaf  swarms  with 
inhabitants.  There  is  scarcely  a  single  humor  in  the 
body  of  a  man,  or  of  any  other  animal,  in  which  our 

15  glasses  do  not  discover  myriads  of  living  creatures. 

We  find  even  in  the  most  solid  bodies,  as  in  marble 
itself,  innumerable  cells  and  cavities,  which  are  crowded 
with  imperceptible  inhabitants,  too  little  for  the  naked  eye 
to  discover.     On  the  other  hand,  if  we  look  into  the  more 

20  bulky  parts  of  nature,  we  see  the  seas,  lakes,  and  rivers, 
teeming  with  numberless  kinds  of  living  creatures.  We 
find  every  mountain  and  marsh,  wilderness  and  wood, 
plentifully  stocked  with  birds  and  beasts ;  and  every  part 
of  matter  affording  proper  necessaries  and  conveniences 

25  for  the  livelihood  of  multitudes  which  inhabit  it. 

The  author  of  "  The  Plurality  of  Worlds "  draws  a 
very  good  argument  from  this  consideration,  for  the  peo- 
pling of  every  planet ;  as  indeed  it  seems  very  probable, 
from  the  analogy  of  reason,  that  if  no  part  of  matter, 

30  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  lies  waste  and  useless, 
those  greater  bodies,  which  are  at  such  a  distance  from 
us,  are  not  desert  and  unpeopled;  but,  rather,  that  they 
are  furnished  with  beings  adapted  to  their  respective  situ- 
ations. 

35  Existence  is  a  blessing  to  those  beings  only  which  are 
endowed  with  perception;  and  is  in  a  manner  thrown 
away  upon  dead  matter,  any  further  than  as  it  is  subser- 
vient to  beings  which  are  conscious  of  their  existence. 
Accordingly  we  find,  from  the  bodies  which  lie  under  our 

40  observation,  that  matter  is  only  made  as  the  basis  and 
support  of  animals,  and  that  there  is  no  more  of  the  one 
than  what  is  necessary  for  the  existence  of  the  other. 

Infinite  Goodness  is  of  so  communicative  a  nature,  that 
it  seems  to  delight  in  conferring  existence  upon  every  de- 


EX.  m.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  163 

gree  of  perceptive  being.  As  this  is  a  speculation,  which 
I  have  often  pursued  with  great  pleasure  to  myself,  1  shall 
enlarge  further  upon  it,  by  considering  that  part  of  the 
scale  of  beings  which  comes  within  our  knowledge. 

5  There  are  some  living  creatures  which  are  raised  but 
just  above  dead  matter.  To  mention  only  that  species  of 
shell-fish  which  is  formed  in  the  fashion  of  a  cone,  that 
grows  to  the  surface  of  several  rocks,  and  immediately 
dies   on   being   severed  from  the   place  where  it  grew. 

10  There  are  many  other  creatures  but  one  remove  from 
these,  which  have  no  other  sense  than  that  of  feeling  and 
taste.  Others  have  still  an  additional  one  of  hearing; 
others  of  smell ;  and  others  of  sight. 

It  is  wonderful  to  observe  by  what  a  gradual  progress 

15  the  world  of  life  advances,  through  a  prodigious  variety 
of  species,  before  a  creature  is  formed  that  is  complete  in 
all  its  senses ;  and  even  among  these,  there  is  such  a  dif- 
ferent degree  of  perfection,  in  the  sense  which  one  animal 
enjoys  beyond  what  appears  in  another,  that  though  the 

20  sense  in  different  animals  is  distinguished  by  the  same 
common  denomination,  it  seems  almost  of  a  different 
nature. 

If,  after  this,  we  look  into  the  several  inward  perfections 
of  cunning  and  sagacity,  or  what  we  generally  call  instinct, 

25  we  find  them  rising,  after  the  same  manner,  imperceptibly 
one  above  another;  and  receiving  additional  improve- 
ments, according  to  the  species  in  which  they  are  im- 
planted. This  progress  in  nature  is  so  very  gradual,  that 
the  most  perfect  of  an  inferior  species  comes  very  near 

30  to  the  most  imperfect  of  that  which  is  immediately  above  it. 
The  exuberant  and  overflowing  goodness  of  the  Su- 
preme  Being,  whose  mercy  extends  to  all  his  works,  is 
plainly  seen,  as  I  have  before  hinted,  in  his  having  made 
so  very  little  matter,  at  least  what  falls  within  our  knowl- 

35  edge,  that  does  not  swarm  with  life.  Nor  is  his  goodness 
less  seen  in  the  diversity,  than  in  the  multitude  of  living 
creatures.  Had  he  made  but  one  species  of  animals, 
none  of  the  rest  would  have  enjoyed  the  happiness  of 
existence ;   he  has,  therefore,  specified^  in   his   creation, 

40  every  degree  of  life,  every  capacity  of  being. 

The  whole  chasm  of  nature,  from  a  plant  to  a  man,  is 
filled  up  with  divers  kinds  of  creatures,  rising  one  after 
another,  by  an  ascent  so  gentle  and  easy  that  the  little 
transitions  and  deviations  from  one  species  to  another  are 


164  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  nr 

almost  insensible.  This  intermediate  space  is  so  well 
husbanded  and  managed,  that  there  is  scarcely  a  degree 
of  perception  which  does  not  appear  in  some  one  part  of 
the  world  of  life.     Is  the  goodness  or  the  wisdom  of  the 

5     Divine  Being  more  manifested  in  this  his  proceeding  ? 

There  is  a  consequence,  besides  those  I  have  already 
mentioned,  which  seems  very  naturally  deducible  from  the 
foregoing  considerations.  If  the  scale  of  being  rises  by 
so  regular  a  progress  so  high  as  man,  we  may,  by  parity 

10  of  reason,  suppose,  that  it  still  proceeds  gradually  through 
those  beings  which  are  of  a  superior  nature  to  him ;  since 
there  is  infinitely  greater  space  and  room  for  different  de- 
grees of  perfection,  between  the  Supreme  Being  and  man, 
than  between  man  and  the  most  despicable  insect. 

15  In  this  great  system  of  being,  there  is  no  creature  so 
wonderful  in  its  nature,  and  which  so  much  deserves  our 
particular  attention,  as  man ;  who  fills  up  the  middle 
space  between  the  animal  and  the  intellectual  nature,  the 
visible  and  the  invisible  world ;  and  who  is  that  link  in 

20  the  chain  of  being  which  forms  the  connexion  between 
both.  So  that  he,  who,  in  one  respect,  is  associated  with 
angels  and  archangels,  and  may  look  upon  a  being  of  in- 
finite perfection  as  his  father,  and  the  highest  order  of 
spirits  as  his  brethren,  may,  in  another  respect,  say  to 

25  "corruption,  thou  art  my  father,"  and  to  the  worm,  "thou 
art  my  mother  and  my  sister."  —  Addison. 


EXERCISE  IV. 

The  Teachings  of  Nature. 

The  seasons  came  and  went,  and  went  and  came, 
To  teach  men  gratitude;  and, as  they  passed, 
Gave  warning  of  the  lapse  of  time,  that  else 

30     Had  stolen  unheeded  by :  the  gentle  flowers 
Retired,  and,  stooping  o'er  the  wilderness. 
Talked  of  humility,  and  peace,  and  love. 
The  dews  came  down  unseen  at  evening  tide, 
And  silently  their  bounties  shed,  to  teach 

35     Mankind  unostentatious  charity. 

With  arm  in  arm  the  forest  rose  on  high, 
And  lesson  gave  of  brotherly  regard. 
And  on  the  rugged  mountain  brow  exposed, 


EX.  v.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  165 

Bearing  the  blast  alone  —  the  ancient  oak 

Stood,  liftingr  high  his  mighty  arm,  and  still 

To  courage  in  distress  exhorted  loud. 

The  flocks,  the  herds,  the  birds,  the  streams,  the  breeze, 
5       Attuned  the  heart  to  melody  and  love. 

Mercy  stood  in  the  cloud,  with  eye  that  wept 

Essential  love ;  and,  from  her  glorious  bow, 

Bending  to  kiss  the  earth  in  token  of  peace, 

With  her  own  lips,  her  gracious  lips,  which  God 
10     Of  sweetest  accent  made,  she  whispered  still, 

She  whispered  to  Revenge:  —  Forgive,  forgive! 
The  Sun,  rejoicing  round  the  earth,  announced 

Daily  the  wisdom,  power,  and  love  of  God. 

The  Moon  awoke,  and  from  her  maiden  face 
15     Shedding  her  cloudy  locks,  looked  meekly  forth, 

And  with  her  virgin  stars  walked  in  the  heavens. 

Walked  nightly  there,  conversing  as  she  walked 

Of  purity,  and  holiness,  and  God. 

In  dreams  and  visions  sleep  instructed  much. 
20     Day  uttered  speech  to  day,  and  night  to  night 

Taught  knowledge  :  silence  had  a  tongue  :  the  grave, 

The  darkness,  and  the  lonely  waste,  had  each 

A  tongue,  that  ever  said  —  Man !  think  of  God ! 

Think  of  thyself!  think  of  eternity! 
25         Fear  God,  the  thunders  said ;  fear  God,  the  waves ; 

Fear  God,  the  lightning  of  the  storm  replied ; 

Fear  God,  deep  loudly  answered  back  to  deep. 

And,  in  the  temples  of  the  Holy  One  — 

Messiah's  messengers,  the  faithful  few  — 
30     Faithful  'mong  many  false  —  the  Bible  opened, 

And  cried:  Repent!  repent,  ye  Sons  of  Men! 

Believe,  be  saved.  Pollock's  Course  of  Time. 


EXERCISE  V. 

English  Politeness  described  by  a  Native  of  China. 

The  English,  in  general,  seem  fonder  of  gaining  the 
esteem  than  the  love  of  those  with  whom  they  converse. 
35  This  gives  a  formality  to  their  amusements  ;  their  gayest 
conversations  have  something  too  wise  for  innocent  relaxa- 
tion ;  though  in  company  you  are  seldom  disgusted  with 
the  absurdity  of  a  fool,  you  are  seldom  lifted  into  rapture 


166  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  vi. 

by  those  strokes  of  vivacity  which  give  instant  though  not 
permanent  pleasure. 

What  they  want,  however,  in  gayety  they  make  up  in 
politeness.     You  smile  at  hearing  me  praise  the  English 

5  for  their  politeness;  you,  who  have  heard  very  different 
accounts  from  the  missionaries  at  Pekin,  who  have  seen 
such  a  different  behavior  in  their  merchants  and  seamen  at 
home.  But  I  must  still  repeat  it,  the  English  seem  more 
polite  than  any  of  their  neighbors ;  their  great  art  in  this 

10  respect  lies  in  endeavoring,  while  they  oblige,  to  lessen 
the  force  of  the  favor.  Other  countries  are  fond  of  oblig- 
ing a  stranger,  but  seem  desirous  that  he  should  be  sensi- 
ble of  the  obligation.  The  English  confer  their  kindness 
with  an  appearance  of  indifference,  and  give  away  benefits 

15  with  an  air  as  if  they  despised  them. 

Walking,  a  few  days  ago,  between  an  Englishman  and 
a  Frenchman,  into  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  we  were  over- 
taken by  a  heavy  shower  of  rain.  I  was  unprepared,  but 
they  had  each  large  coats,  which   defended  them  from 

20  what  seemed  to  me  a  perfect  inundation.  The  English- 
man, seeing  me  shrink  from  the  weather,  accosted  me 
thus  :  "  Psha,  man,  what  dost  shrink  at  ?  Here,  take  this 
coat ;  I  don't  want  it ;  I  find  it  no  way  useful  to  me ;  I 
had  as  lief  be  without  it." 

25  The  Frenchman  began  to  show  his  politeness  in  turn. 
"  My  dear  friend,"  cries  he,  "  why  won't  you  oblige  me 
by  making  use  of  my  coat  ?  you  see  how  well  it  defends 
me  from  the  rain.  I  should  not  choose  to  part  with  it  to 
others,  but  to  such  a  friend  as  you  I  could  even  part  with 

30  my  skin  to  do  him  service." 

From  such  minute  instances  as  these,  most  reverend 
Fum  Hoam,  I  am  sensible  your  sagacity  will  collect  in- 
struction. The  volume  of  nature  is  the  book  of  knowl- 
edge; and  he  becomes  most  wise  who  makes  the  most 

35  judicious  selection.  —  Goldsmith. 


EXERCISE  VI. 

Pleasures  of  Melancholy. 

Let  others  love  soft  summer's  evening  smiles, 
As,  listening  to  the  distant  waterfall. 
They  mark  the  blushes  of  the  streaky  west ; 
I  choose  the  pale  December's  foggy  glooms. 


EX.  VII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  167 

Then,  when  the  sullen  shades  of  evening  close, 
Where  through  the  room  the  blindly-glimmering  gleam 
The  dying  embers  scatter,  far  remote 
From  Mirth's  mad  shouts,  that  through  the  illumined  roof 

5     Resound  with  festive  echo,  let  me  sit, 

Blest  with  the  lowly  cricket's  drowsy  dirge, 
Then  let  my  thought  contemplative  explore 
This  fleeting  state  of  things,  the  vain  delights, 
The  fruitless  toils,  that  still  our  search  elude, 

10  As  through  the  wilderness  of  life  we  rove. 
This  sober  hour  of  silence  will  unmask 
False  Folly's  smiles,  that,  like  the  dazzling  spells 
Of  wily  Comus,  cheat  the  unweeting  eye 
With  blear  illusion,  and  persuade  to  drink 

15  That  charmed  cup,  which  Reason's  mintage  fair 
Unmoulds,  and  stamps  the  monster  on  the  man. 
Eager  we  taste,  but  in  the  luscious  draught 
Forget  the  poisonous  dregs  that  lurk  beneath. 
Few  know  that  elegance  of  soul  refined 

20  Whose  soft  sensation  feels  a  quicker  joy 

From  Melancholy's  scenes  than  the  dull  pride 
Of  tasteless  splendor  and  magnificence 
Can  e'er  afford. 

Thus  Eloise,  whose  mind 

25  Had  languished  to  the  pangs  of  melting  love. 
More  genuine  transport  found,  as  on  some  tomb 
Reclined  she  watched  the  tapers  of  the  dead ; 
Or  through  the  pillared  isles,  amid  pale  shrines 
Of  imaged  saints  and  intermingled  graves, 

30  Mused  a  veiled  votaress ;  than  Flavia  feels, 
As  through  the  mazes  of  the  festive  ball. 
Proud  of  her  conquering  channs  and  beauty's  blaze, 
She  floats  amid  the  silken  sons  of  dress. 
And  shines  the  fairest  of  the  assembled  fair. 

T.  Wartan. 


EXERCISE  VII. 

The  Amiable  Character  of  the  Patriarch  Joseph. 

35  No  human  character  exhibited  in  the  records  of  Scrip- 
ture is  more  remarkable  and  instructive  than  that  of  the 
patriarch  Joseph.  He  is  one  whom  we  behold  tried  in  all 
the  vicissitudes  of  fortune ;  from  the  condition  of  a  slavp 


168  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  vii. 

rising  to  be  ruler  of  the  land  of  Egypt ;  and  in  every  sta- 
tion acquiring,  by  his  virtue  and  wisdom,  favor  with  God 
and  man.  When  overseer  of  Potiphar's  house,  his  fidelity 
was  proved  by  strong  temptations,  which  he  honorably 

5     resisted. 

When  thrown  into  prison  by  the  artifices  of  a  false 
woman,  his  integrity  and  prudence  soon  rendered  him 
conspicuous,  even  in  that  dark  mansion.  When  called 
into  the  presence  of  Pharaoh,  the  wise  and  extensive  plan 

10  which  he  formed  for  saving  the  kingdom  from  the  miseries 
of  impending  famine,  justly  raised  him  to  a  high  station, 
wherein  his  abilities  were  eminently  displayed  in  the  pub- 
lic service. 

But  in  his  whole  history  there  is  no  circumstance  so 

15  striking  and  interesting  as  his  behavior  to  his  brethren 
who  had  sold  him  into  slavery.  The  moment  in  which 
he  made  himself  known  to  them  was  the  most  critical 
one  of  his  life,  and  the  most  decisive  of  his  character.  It 
is  such  as  rarely  occurs  in  the  course  of  human  events, 

20  and  is  calculated  to  draw  the  highest  attention  of  all  who 
are  endowed  with  any  degree  of  sensibility  of  heart. 

From  the  whole  tenor  of  the  narration,  it  appears,  that 
though  Joseph,  upon  the  arrival  of  his  brethren  in  Egypt, 
made  himself  strange  to  them,  yet,  from  the  beginning,  he 

25  intended  to  discover  himself;  and  studied  so  to  conduct 
the  discovery   as  might  render  the  surprise  of  joy  com- 
plete.    For  this  end,  by  afiected  severity,  he  took  measures 
for  bringing  down  into  Egypt  all  his  father's  children. 
They  were  now  arrived  there ;  and  Benjamin  among 

30  the  rest,  who  was  his  younger  brother  by  the  same  mother, 
and  was  particularly  beloved  by  Joseph.  Him  he  threat- 
ened to  detain ;  and  seemed  willing  to  allow  the  rest  to 
depart.  This  incident  renewed  their  distress.  They  all 
knew  their  father's  extreme  anxiety  about  the  safety  of 

35  Benjamin,  and  with  what  difficulty  he  had  yielded  to  his 
undertaking  this  journey. 

Should  he  be  prevented  from  returning,  they  dreaded 
that  grief  would  overpower  the  old  man's  spirits,  and  prove 
fatal  to  his  life.     Judah,  therefore,  who  had  particularly 

40  urged  the  necessity  of  Benjamin's  accompanying  his  broth- 
ers, and  had  solemnly  pledged  himself  to  their  father  for 
his  safe  return,  craved,  upon  this  occasion,  an  audience  of 
the  governor,  and  gave  him  a  full  account  of  the  circum- 
stances of  Jacob's  family. 


EX.  Vn.]  RHETORICAL    READLNG.  169 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  and  pathetic  than  this 
discourse  of  Judah.  Little  knowing  to  whom  he  spoke, 
he  paints,  in  all  the  colors  of  simple  and  natural  eloquence, 
the  distressed  situation  of  the  aged  patriarch,  hastening  to 

6  the  close  of  life ;  long  afflicted  for  the  loss  of  a  favorite 
son,  whom  he  supposed  to  have  been  torn  in  pieces  by  a 
beast  of  prey ;  laboring  now  under  anxious  concern  about 
his  youngest  son,  the  child  of  his  old  age,  who  alone  was 
left  alive  of  his  mother,  and  whom  nothing  but  the  calam- 

JO  ities  of  severe  famine  could  have  moved  a  tender  father  to 
send  from  home,  and  expose  to  the  dangers  of  a  foreign 
land. 

"  If  we  bring  him  not  back  with  us,  we  shall  bring  down 
the  gray  hairs  of  thy  servant,  our  father,  with  sorrow  to 

J 5  the  grave.     I  pray  thee  therefore  let  thy  servant  abide, 

instead  of  the  young  man,  a  bondman  to  our  lord.     For 

how  shall  1  go  up  to  my  father,  and  Benjamin  not  with 

me  ?  lest  I  see  the  evil  that  shall  come  on  my  father." 

Upon  this  relation,  Joseph  could  no  longer  restrain  him- 

20  self.  The  tender  ideas  of  his  father,  and  his  father's 
house,  of  his  ancient  home,  his  country,  and  his  kindred, 
of  the  distress  of  his  family,  and  his  own  exaltation,  all 
rushed  too  strongly  upon  his  mind  to  bear  any  further  con- 
cealment.    "  He  cried,  Cause  every  man  to  go  out  from 

25  me  ;  and  he  wept  aloud." 

The  tears  which  he  shed  were  not  the  tears  of  grief. 
They  were  the  burst  of  affection.  They  were  the  effu- 
sions of  a  heart  overflowing  with  all  the  tender  sensibili- 
ties of  nature.     Formerly  he  had  been  moved  in  the  same 

30  manner  when  he  first  saw  his  brethren  before  him.  «'  His 
bowels  yearned  upon  them ;  he  sought  for  a  place  where 
to  weep.  He  went  into  his  chamber ;  and  then  washed 
his  face  and  returned  to  them." 

At  that  period,  his  generous  plans  were  not  completed. 

35  But  now,  when  there  was  no  further  occasion  for  constrain- 
ing himself,  he  gave  free  vent  to  the  strong  emotions  of 
his  heart.  The  first  minister  to  the  king  of  Egypt  was 
not  ashamed  to  show  that  he  felt  as  a  man  and  a  brother. 
"  He  wept  aloud ;  and  the  Egyptians  and  the  house  of 

40  Pharaoh  heard  him." 

The  first  words  which  his  swelling  heart  allowed  him 

to  pronounce  are  the  most  suitable  to  such  an  affecting 

situation  that  were  ever  uttered  :  —  "I  am  Joseph ;  doth 

my  father  yet  live  ? "     What  could  he,  what  ought  he,  in 

15 


170  Parker's  exercisj;$  in  [ex.  vin. 

that  impassioned  moment,  to  have  said  more?  This  is 
the  voice  of  nature  herself,  speaking  her  own  language  ; 
and  it  penetrates  the  heart :  no  pomp  of  expression  ;  no 
parade  of  kindness  ;  but  strong  affection  hastening  to  utter 

5  what  it  strongly  felt.  "  His  brethren  could  not  answer 
him ;  for  they  were  troubled  at  his  presence."  Their  si- 
lence is  as  expressive  of  those  emotions  of  repentance  and 
shame,  which  on  this  amazing  discovery  filled  their  breasts 
and  stopped  their  utterance,  as  the  few  words  which  Jo- 

10  seph  speaks  are  expressive  of  the  generous  agitations 
which  struggled  for  vent  within  him. 

No  painter  could  seize  a  more  striking  moment  for  dis- 
playing the  characteristical  features  of  the  human  heart 
than  what  is  here  presented.     Never  was  there  a  situation 

15  of  more  tender  and  virtuous  joy,  on  the  one  hand,  nor,  on 
the  other,  of  more  overwhelming  confusion  and  conscious 
guilt.  In  the  simple  narration  of  the  sacred  historian,  it 
is  set  before  us  with  greater  energy  and  higher  effect  than 
if  it  had  been  wrought  up  with  all  the  coloring  of  the 

20  most  admired  modern  eloquence.  —  Blair. 


EXERCISE   VIII. 

The  Rainbow. 

The  evening  was  glorious,  and  light  through  the  trees 
Played  in  sunshine,  the  rain-drops,  the  birds,  and  the  breeze ; 
The  landscape,  outstretching,  in  loveliness  lay 
On  the  lap  of  the  year,  in  the  beauty  of  May. 

25       For  the  bright  queen  of  spring,  as  she  passed  down  the 
vale, 
Left  her  robe  on  the  trees,  and  her  breath  on  the  gale  ; 
And  the  smile  of  her  promise  gave  joy  to  the  hours, 
And  fresh  in  her  footsteps  sprang  herbage  and  flowers. 

30       The  skies,  like  a  banner  in  sunset  unrolled. 

O'er  the  west  threw  their  splendor  of  azure  and  gold ; 
But  one  cloud  at  a  distance  rose  dense,  and  increased, 
'Till  its  margin  of  black  touched  the  zenith  and  east. 
We  gazed  on  these  scenes,  while  around  us  they  glowed 

35  When  a  vision  of  beauty  appeared  on  the  cloud ; 
'T  was  not  like  the  sun,  as  at  mid-day  we  view. 
Nor  the  moon,  that  rolls  lightly  through  starlight  and  blue 


EX.  VITI.J  RHETORICAL   READING.  171 

•  Like  a  spirit  it  came  in  the  van  of  a  storm, 

And  the  eye  and  the  heart  hailed  its  beautiful  form; 

For  it  looked  not  severe,  like  an  angel  of  wrath. 

But  its  garments  of  brightness  illumed  its  dark  path. 
>         In  the  hues  of  its  grandeur  sublimely  it  stood. 

O'er  the  river,  the  village,  the  field,  and  the  wood ; 

And  river,  field,  village,  and  woodland  grew  bright. 

As  conscious  they  felt  and  aflibrded  delight. 

'T  was  the  bow  of  Omnipotence,  bent  in  his  hand 
lO  Whose  grasp  at  creation  the  universe  spanned  ; 

'T  was  the  presence  of  God,  in  a  symbol  sublime, 

His  vow  from  the  flood  to  the  exit  of  time ; 

Not  dreadful  as  when  in  a  whirlwind  he  pleads. 

When  storms  are  his  chariot,  and  lightning  his  steeds ; 
15  The  black  cloud  of  vengeance  his  banner  unfurled, 

And  thunder  his  voice  to  a  guilt-stricken  world ; 

In  the  breath  of  his  presence  when  thousands  expire. 

And  seas  boil  with  fury,  and  rocks  burn  with  fire, 

And  the  sword  and  the  plague-spot  with  death  strew  the 
20  plain, 

And  vultures  and  wolves  are  the  graves  of  the  slain. 
Not  such  was  that  rainbow,  that  beautiful  one  ! 

Whose  arch  was  refraction,  its  key-stone  —  the  sun; 

A  pavilion  it  seemed,  with  a  deity  graced, 
25  And  justice  and  mercy  met  there  and  embraced. 
A  while,  and  it  sweetly  bent  over  the  gloom, 

Like  love  o'er  a  death-couch,  or  hope  o'er  the  tomb; 

Then  left  the  dark  scene,  whence  it  slowly  retired, 

As  love  had  just  vanished,  or  hope  had  expired. 
30       I  gazed  not  alone  on  that  source  of  my  song. 

To  all  who  beheld  it  these  verses  belong ; 

Its  presence  to  all  was  the  path  of  the  Lord ! 

Each  full  heart  expanded,  grew  warm  and  adored. 
Like  a  visit,  the  converse  of  friends,  or  a  day, 
35  That  bow  from  my  sight  passed  forever  away ; 

Like  that  visit,  that  converse,  that  day,  to  my  heart. 

That  bow  from  remembrance  can  never  depart. 
'T  is  a  picture  in  memory,  distinctly  defined, 

With  the  strong  and  imperishing  colors  of  mind  : 
40  A  part  of  my  being  beyond  my  control. 

Beheld  on  that  cloud,  and  transcribed  on  my  soul. 

Campbell. 


172  parker'.s  exercises  in  [ex.  EC. 

EXERCISE  IX. 

On  the  Immortality  of  the  Sold. 

I  WAS  yesterday  walking  alone,  in  one  of  my  friends' 
woods,  and  lost  myself  in  it  very  agreeably,  as  I  was  rmi- 
ning  over,  in  my  mind,  the  several  arguments  that  estab- 
lish this  great  point,  —  which  is  the  basis  of  morality,  and 

b  the  source  of  all  the  pleasing  hopes  and  secret  joys,  that 
can  arise  in  the  heart  of  a  reasonable  creature  ?  I  consid- 
ered those  several  proofs  drawn. 

First,  from  the  nature  of  the  soul  itself,  and  particularly 
its  immateriality ;  which,  though  not  absolutely  necessary 

10  to  the  eternity  of  its  duration,  has,  1  think,  been  evinced 
to  almost  a  demonstration. 

Secondly,  from  its  passions  and  sentiments ;  as,  particu- 
larly, from  its  love  of  existence,  its  horror  of  annihilation, 
and  its  hopes  of  immortality ;  with  that  secret  satisfaction 

15  which  it  finds  in  the  practice  of  virtue,  and  that  uneasi- 
ness which  follows  upon  the  commission  of  vice. 

Thirdly,  from  the  nature  of  the  Supreme  Being,  whose 
justice,  goodness,  wisdom,  and  veracity,  are  all  concerned 
in  this  point. 

20  But  among  these,  and  other  excellent  arguments  for 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  there  is  one  drawn  from  the 
perpetual  progress  of  the  soul  to  its  perfection,  without  a 
possibility  of  ever  arriving  at  it ;  which  is  a  hint  that  I  do 
not  remember  to  have  seen  opened  and  improved  by  others 

25  who  have  written  on  this  subject,  though  it  seems  to  me 
to  carry  a  very  great  weight  with  it. 

How  can  it  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  man,  that  the 
soul,  which  is  capable  of  immense  perfections,  and  of  re- 
ceiving new  improvements  to  all  eternity,  shall  fall  away 

30  into  nothing  almost  as  soon  as  it  is  created?  Are  such 
abilities  made  for  no  purpose  ?  A  brute  arrives  at  a  point 
of  perfection  that  he  can  never  pass ;  in  a  few  years  he 
has  all  the  endowments  he  is  capable  of;  and  were  he  to 
live  ten  thousand  more,  would  be  the  same  thing  he  is  at 

35  present. 

Were  a  human  soul  thus  at  a  stand  in  her  accomplish- 
ments,—  were  her  faculties  to  be  full  blown,  and  incapable 
of  further  enlargements^  —  I  could  imagine  she  might  fall 
away  insensibly,  and  drop  at  once  into  a  state  of  annihila- 

40  tion.  But  can  we  believe  a  thinking  being,  that  is  in  a 
perpetual  progress  of  improvement,  and  travelling  on  from 


EX.  IX.j  RHETOKIC.AL    llEADING.  173 

perfection  to  perfection,  after  having  just  looked  abroad 
into  the  works  of  her  Creator,  and  made  a  few  discoveries 
of  his  infinite  goodness,  wisdom,  and  power,  must  perish 
at  her  first  setting  out,  and  in  the  very  beginning  of  her 


mquines 


Man,  considered  only  in  his  present  state,  seems  sent 
into  the  world  merely  to  propagate  his  kind.  He  provides 
himself  with  a  successor,  and  immediately  quits  his  post 
to  make  room  for  him.     He  does  not  seem  born  to  enjoy 

10  life,  but  to  deliver  it  down  to  others.  This  is  not  surpris- 
ing to  consider  in  animals,  which  are  formed  for  our  use, 
and  which  can  finish  their  business  in  a  short  life. 

The  silk-worm,  after  having  spun  her  task,  lays  her 
eggs  and  dies.     But  a  man  cannot  take  in  his  full  meas- 

15  ure  of  knowledge,  has  not  time  to  subdue  his  passions, 
establish  his  soul  in  virtue,  and  come  to  the  perfection  of 
his  nature,  before  he  is  hurried  off  the  stage.  Would  an 
infinitely  wise  Being  make  such  glorious  creatures  for  so 
mean  a  purpose  ?     Can  he  delight  in  the  production  of 

20  such  abortive  intelligences,  such  short-lived  reasonable  be- 
ings ?  Would  lie  give  us  talents  that  are  not  to  be  exert- 
ed ?  capacities  that  are  never  to  be  gratified  ? 

How  can  we  find  that  wisdom  which  shines  through  all 
his  works,  in  the  formation  of  man,  without  looking  on 

25  this  world  as  only  a  nursery  for  the  next ;  and  without 
believing  that  the  several  generations  of  rational  creatures, 
which  rise  up  and  disappear  in  such  quick  successions, 
are  only  to  receive  their  first  rudiments  of  existence  here, 
and  afterwards  to  be   transplanted  into  a  more  friendly 

30  climate,  where  they  may  spread  and  flourish  to  all  eternity  ? 
There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  more  pleasing  and  tri- 
umphant consideration  in  religion,  than  this  of  the  perpet- 
ual progress  which  the  soul  makes  towards  the  perfection 
of  its  nature,  without  ever  arriving  at  a  period  in  it.     To 

35  look  upon  the  soul  as  going  on  from  strength  to  strength ; 
to  consider  that  she  is  to  shine  forever  with  new  accessions 
of  glory,  and  brighten  to  all  eternity  ;  that  she  will  be 
still  adding  virtue  to  virtue,  and  knowledge  to  knowledge  ; 
carries  in  it  something  wonderfully  agreeable  to  that  am- 

40  bition  which  is  natural  to  the  mind  of  man.  Nay,  it 
must  be  a  prospect  pleasing  to  God  himself,  to  see  his  cre- 
ation forever  beautifying  in  his  eyes,  and  drawing  nearer 
to  him,  by  greater  degrees  of  resemblance. 

Methinks  this  single  consideration  of  the  progress  of  a 
lb* 


174  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  x. 

finite  spirit  to  perfection  will  be  sufficient  to  extinguish  all 
envy  in  inferior  natures,  and  all  contempt  in  superior. 
That  cherub,  which  now  appears  as  a  god  to  a  human 
soul,  knows  very  well  that  the  period  will  coTne  about  in 

5     eternity  when  the  human  soul  shall  be  as  perfect  as  he 

himself  now  is  ;  nay,  when  she  shall  look  down  upon  that 

degree  of  perfection  as  much  as  she  now  falls  short  of  it. 

It  is  true,  the  higher  nature  still  advances,  and  by  that 

means  preserves  his  distance  and  superiority  in  the  scale 

10  of  being ;  yet  he  knows  that,  how  high  soever  the  station 
is  of  which  he  stands  possessed  at  present,  the  inferior 
nature  will,  at  length,  mount  up  to  it,  and  shine  forth  in 
the  same  degree  of  glory. 

With  what  astonishment  and  veneration  may  we  look 

15  into  our  own  souls,  where  there  are  such  hidden  stores  of 
virtue  and  knowledge,  such  inexhausted  sources  of  perfec- 
tion !  We  know  not  yet  what  we  shall  be  ;  nor  will  it  ever 
enter  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive  the  glory  that  will 
be  always  in  reserve  for  him. 

20  The  soul,  considered  with  its  Creator,  is  like  one  of 
those  mathematical  lines  that  may  draw  nearer  to  another 
for  all  eternity,  without  a  possibility  of  touching  it :  and 
can  there  be  a  thought  so  transporting,  as  to  consider  our- 
selves in  these   perpetual  approaches  to  Him  who  is  the 

25  standard  not  only  of  perfection,  but  of  happiness ! 

Addison. 


EXERCISE  X. 

Winter. 

'T  IS  done  !  dread  Winter  spreads  his  latest  glooms, 
And  reigns  tremendous  o'er  the  conquered  year. 
How  dead  the  vegetable  kingdom  lies  ! 
How  dumb  the  tuneful !  horror  wide  extends 
30  His  desolate  domain. 

Behold,  fond  man ! 
See  here  thy  pictured  life ;  pass  some  few  years,  — 
Thy  flowering  spring,  thy  summer's  ardent  strength, 
Thy  sober  autumn  fading  into  age,  — 
35  And  pale  concluding  winter  comes  at  last, 
And  shuts  the  scene. 

Ah !  whither  now  are  fled 
Those  dreams  of  greatness  ?  those  unsolid  hopes 


EX.  XI.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  175 

Of  happiness  ?  those  longings  after  fame  ? 

Those  restless  cares  ?  those  busy,  bustling  days  ? 

Those  gay-spent,  festive  nights  (  those  veering  thoughts. 

Lost  between  good  and  ill,  that  shared  thy  life  ? 
5         All  are  now  vanished  !     Virtue  sole  survives, 

Immortal,  never-failing  friend  of  man. 

His  guide  to  happiness  on  high.     And  see  ! 

'T  is  come,  the  glorious  morn  !  the  second  birth 

Of  heaven  and  earth  !  awakening  nature  hears 
10  The.  new-creating  word,  and  starts  to  life, 

In  every  heightened  form,  from  pain  and  death 

Forever  free. 

The  great  eternal  scheme, 

Involving  all,  and  in  a  perfect  whole 
15  Uniting,  as  the  prospect  wider  spreads, 

To  Reason's  eye  refined  clears  up  apace. 

Ye  vainly  wise  !  ye  blind  presumptuous!  now, 

Confounded  in  the  dust,  adore  that  Power 

And  Wisdom  oft  arraigned :  see  now  the  cause 
20  Why  unassuming  worth  in  secret  lived. 

And  died  neglected :  why  the  good  man's  share 

In  life  was  gall  and  bitterness  of  soul : 

Why  the  lone  widow  and  her  orphans  pined 

in  starving  solitude  ;  while  Luxury, 
25  In  palaces,  lay  straining  her  low  thought 

To  form  unreal  wants  :  why  heaven-born  truth, 

And  moderation  fair,  wore  the  red  marks 

Of  superstition's  scourge  :  why  licensed  pain, 

That  cruel  spoiler,  that  embosomed  foe, 
30  Embittered  all  our  bliss.     Ye  good  distressed ! 

Ye  noble  few !  who  here  unbending  stand 

Beneath  life's  pressure,  yet  bear  up  a  while. 

And  what  your  bounded  view,  which  only  saw 

A  little  part,  deemed  evil,  is  no  more  : 
35  The  storms  of  wintry  time  will  quickly  pass, 

And  one  unbounded  spring  encircle  all.  Thomson. 


EXERCISE  XI. 

Sabbath  Exercises. 

Many  Christians  who  feel  deeply  the  importance  of 
spending  the  Sabbath  in  a  proper  manner,  find,  notwith 


176  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xi. 

standing  all  their  endeavors,  that  the  sacred  hours  do  at 
times  pass  heavily  along.  Now  the  Sabbath  should  be 
not  only  the  Christian's  most  profitable,  but  most  happy 
day.     I  once  knew  a  young  Christian  who  resolved  that 

5  he  would  pass  the  whole  day  in  prayer ;  but  very  soon  he 
became  exhausted  and  weary.  He,  however,  persevered 
through  the  whole  day,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  neces- 
sary interruptions;  and  when  night  came,  he  felt  a  dead- 
ness  and  exhaustion  of  feeling  which  he  unhappily  mis- 

lO  took  for  spiritual  desertion.  No  human  mind  can,  in 
ordinary  cases,  sustain  such  long  and  intense  application 
to  one  subject ;  there  must  be  variety,  to  give  cheerfulness 
and  to  invigorate.  Often  a  conscientious  young  Christian 
takes  his  Bible,  resolving  to  spend  the  Sabbath  in  reading 

15  the  Bible  and  in  prayer.  He  perhaps  passes  an  hour  or 
two  in  this  way  very  pleasantly,  and  then  he  feels  tired ; 
he  tries  to  rouse  his  feelings,  and  bitterly  condemns  him- 
self for  unavoidable  languor.  I  have  known  persons  to  be 
greatly  disquieted  and  distrustful  of  their  Christian  char- 

20  acter,  because  they  could  not  pass  the  whole  of  the  Sab- 
bath pleasantly  in  uninterrupted  reading  of  the  Bible  or  in 
continual  prayer. 

There  is  a  wide  difTerence  between  spiritual  desertion 
and  mental  exhaustion.     To  avoid  this  mental  exhaustion, 

25  and  to  keep  the  spirits  animated  and  cheerful,  much  vari- 
ety of  pursuit  is  necessary.  Who  would  be  willing  to  go 
to  church,  and  have  the  whole  time  occupied  with  a  ser- 
mon, or  a  prayer,  or  a  hymn  ?  How  few  are  there  who 
can,  with  pleasure  and  profit,  listen  to  a  sermon  of  one 

30  hour's  length !  There  must  be  a  diversity  of  exercises  to 
make  public  worship  agreeahle,  and  there  must  be  diver- 
sity to  give  pleasure  to  private  devotion. 

Let  the  sacred  hours  of  the  Sabbath,  then,  be  appropri- 
ated to  a  variety  of  religious  employments.     Suppose  the 

35  case  of  a  young  married  man.  He  wishes  to  pass  the 
Sabbath  in  a  way  acceptable  to  God,  and  to  enjoy  his 
religious  duties.  He  rises  in  good  season  in  the  morning, 
and  commences  the  day  with  a  short  but  fervent  prayer 
for  the  divine  blessing ;  he  then  passes  the  time  till  break- 

40  fast  in  reading  the  Bible.  Perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  variety, 
he  spends  a  part  of  the  time  in  reading  the  devotional 
portions,  and  a  part  in  perusing  its  interesting  history.  At 
the  breakfast-table,  with  cheerful  countenance  and  heart, 
he  leads  the  conversation  to  religious  subjects ;  after  break- 


EX.  XI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  177 

fast  he  passes  an  hour  in  reading  some  valuable  religious 
book.  Books  are  so  numerous  now,  that  the  best  practical 
works  upon  Christianity  are  easily  obtained  by  all.  Bun- 
yan's    Pilgrim's  Progress,   Baxter's   Saint's    Rest,  Law's 

5  Serious  Call,  Doddridge's  Rise  and  Progress,  Imitation  of 
Christ,  &c.,  are  works  of  standard  merit,  and  works  with 
which  all  Christians  may  and  should  be  acquainted.  It 
is  very  desirable  that  the  Christian  should  have  on  hand 
some  such  book,  which  he  will  read  in  course,  taking  a 

10  moderate  portion  every  day,  until  he  has  fiiiished  it. 

At  length  the  time  arrives  for  the  assembling  of  his 
family  for  morning  prayers.  He  carries  his  principle,  for 
securing  an  interesting  variety,  here.  Sometimes  he  will 
read  religious  intelligence  from  a  periodical;  sometimes 

15  he  reads  an  interesting  narrative  from  a  tract;  always 
taking  care  to  select  something  which  will  excite  attention. 
After  finishing  this,  he  opens  the  Bible  and  selects  some 
appropriate  passage  and  reads  it,  wnth  occasional  remarks, 
intended  to  deepen  the  impression  upon  his  own  mind,  and 

20  upon  the  minds  of  those  in  the  circle  around  him.  He 
then  reads  a  hymn,  and  after  singing  a  few  verses,  if  the 
family  are  able  to  sing,  bows  at  the  family  altar  in  prayer. 
The  variety  which  he  has  thus  introduced  into  the  exercise 
has  continued  to  interest  the  feelings,  and  no  occasion  has 

25  been  offered  for  lassitude  or  tedium. 

He  now  walks  the  room  for  exercise,  and  reviews  the 
past  week ;  he  thinks  of  the  opportunities  to  do  good  which 
he  has  neglected,  examines  his  feelings  and  his  conduct, 
and  in  ejaculatory  prayer  seeks  forgiveness.     When  he 

30  enters  the  place  of  public  worship,  his  mind  is  ready  for 
active  service  there  —  he  unites  with  his  pastor  in  prayer. 
When  a  hymn  is  read,  he  attends  to  the  sentiment,  and 
makes  melody  in  heart  to  God  when  singing  his  praises. 
He  listens  attentively  to  the  sermon,  feeling  that  the  re- 

35  sponsibility  of  being  interested  in  it  comes  upon  him,  and 
he  prays  that  God  will  bless  it  to  his  own  soul,  and  to  the 
conversion  of  others. 

Perhaps,  in  the  interval  between  forenoon  and  after- 
noon service,  he  has  a  class  in  the  Sabbath -school,  or  is 

40  himself  a  member  of  the  Bible  class  :  these  duties  he  per- 
forms with  a  sincere  desire  to  do  good.  After  the  close 
of  the  afternoon  services,  he  retires  for  secret  prayer.  He 
appropriates  a  proper  period  to  this  duty,  and  presents  his 
own  private  and  personal  wants,  and  the  spiritual  interests 


178  Parker's  exercises  in  [EX.xn. 

of  others,  in  minute  detail,  to  God; — he  looks  forward,  too, 
to  the  duties  of  the  week ;  he  brings  before  his  mind  the 
temptations  to  which  he  will  be  exposed,  the  opportunities 
for  exerting  a  Christian  influence  which  he  possesses,  and 

5  forms  his  plans  of  Christian  usefulness  for  the  week ;  he 
thinks  of  some  good  object  which  he  will  try  to  advance, 
of  some  individual  whom  he  will  try  to  lead  to  the  Saviour. 
He  forms  his  resolutions,  and  perhaps  writes  them  down, 
that  he  may  refer  to  them  again  the  next  Sabbath,  in  the 

10  review  of  the  week.  At  the  appointed  hour  he  assembles 
his  family  for  evening  prayers.  A  brief  reference  to  the 
religious  exercises  of  the  day,  or  some  interesting  narra- 
tive, followed  by  the  Bible,  singing  and  prayer,  again  give 
variety  and  animation  to  the  exercise  ;  and  when  all  the 

15  duties  of  the  day  are  over,  as  he  is  retiring  to  rest,  he 
passes  the  few  moments  which  remain  before  slumber  has 
wrapt  his  senses  in  forgetfulness  in  reviewing  the  duties 
of  the  day.  The  Sabbath  has  been  profitably  and  happily 
spent.     It  has  been  to  him  a  rich  season  of  improvement 

20  and  of  enjoyment.  He  has  made  a  Sabbath  day's  journey 
toward  heaven ;  he  has  obtained  strength  to  meet  the 
allurements  and  temptations  of  life.  During  the  week  he 
looks  back  upon  the  Sabbath  with  pleasure,  and  when  the 
light  of  another  holy  morning  dawns  upon  him,  he  can 

25  sincerely  say, 

"  Welcome,  delightful  morn, 
Thou  day  of  sacred  rest ; 
I  hail  thy  Kind  return  — 

Lord,  make  these  moments  blest." 

Abbotfs  Young  Christian. 


EXERCISE  XII. 
The  Deserted  Village. 

30       Sweet  Auburn !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 

Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  laboring  swain, 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid. 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed ; 
Dear,  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, 

35  Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please, 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green. 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene ! 
How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm, — 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm 


EI.   Xn.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  179 

The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 

The  decent  church  that  topped  the  neighboring  hill, 

The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 

For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made ! 
6         How  often  have  I  blessed  the  coming  day. 

When  toil  remitting  lent  its  aid  to  play. 

And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free. 

Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree  ! 

While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 
10  The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed  ; 

And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground. 

And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round. 
And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 

Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired  : 
15  The  dancing  pair,  that  simply  sought  renown 

By  holding  out  to  tire  each  other  down ; 

The  swain,  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face, 

"While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place ; 

The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love, 
20  The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove : 

These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village  !  sports  like  these, 

With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to  please; 

These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence  shed. 

These  were  thy  charms  —  but  all  these  charms  are  fled. 
25       Sweet,  smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn, 

Thy  sports  are  fled,  and  all  thy  charms  withdrawn ; 

Amid  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 

And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green  ; 

One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain, 
30  And  half  a  tillage  tints  thy  smiling  plain. 

No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  day, 

But,  choked  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy  way ; 

Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 

The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest; 
35  Amid  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flies, 

And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries. 
Sunk  are  thy  bowers  in  shapeless  ruin  all. 

And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  mouldering  wall ; 

And,  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's  hand, 
40  Far,  far  away  thy  children  leave  the  land. 
Ill  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 

Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay; 

Princes  and  lords  may  flourish  or  may  fade ; 

A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made : 


180  PARKEH'S    EXERCISES    IN  [EX.  311, 

But  a  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride, 

When  once  destroyed  can  never  be  supplied. 
A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  began, 

When  every  rood  of  ground  maintained  its  man ; 
5     For  him  light  labor  spread  her  wholesome  store, 

Just  gave  what  life  required,  but  gave  no  more ; 

His  best  companions,  innocence  and  health; 

And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth. 

But  times  are  altered;  trade's  unfeeling  train 
10  Usurp  the  land,  and  dispossess  the  swain ; 

Along  the  lawn,  where  scattered  hamlets  rose, 

Unwieldly  wealth  and  cumbrous  pomp  repose ; 

And  every  want  to  luxury  allied, 

And  every  pang  thnt  folly  pays  to  pride. 
15  Those  gentle  hours  that  plenty  bade  to  bloom, 

Those  calm  desires  that  asked  but  little  room. 

Those  healthful  sports  that  graced  the  peaceful  scene, 

Lived  in  each  look,  and  brightened  all  the  green,  — 

These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kmder  shore, 
20  And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more. 

Sweet  Auburn  !  parent  of  the  blissful  hour, 

Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 

Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds, 

Amid  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 
25  And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 

Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 

Remembrance  wakes  with  all  her  busy  train. 

Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 
In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
30  In  all  my  griefs  —  and  God  has  given  my  share  — 

I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 

Amid  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 

To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 

And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose ; 
35  I  still  had  hopes,  —  for  pride  attends  us  still,  — 

Amid  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill, 

Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 

And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw ; 

And  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
40  Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 

I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 

Here  to  return  —  and  die  at  home  at  last. 

Oh  blessed  retirement !  friend  to  life's  decline, 

lietreat    from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine. 


KX.  Xn.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  181 

How  blessed  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 

A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease  ; 

Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try, 

And,  since  't  is  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
5         For  him  no  wretches,  bom  to  work  and  weep, 

Explore  the  mine,  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep; 

Nor  surly  porter  stands,  in  guilty  state. 

To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate; 

But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
10  Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend ; 

Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 

While  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way ; 

And  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last. 

His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past. 
15       Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft,  at  evening's  close. 

Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose  ; 

There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 

The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below ; 

The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
20  The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young; 

The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool. 

The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school; 

The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whispering  wind, 

And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind; 
25  These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade. 

And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 
But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail. 

No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale. 

No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread, 
30  But  all  the  blooming  flush  of  life  is  fled  : 

All  but  yon  widowed,  solitary  thing. 

That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring : 

She,  wretched  matron,  forced  in  age,  for  bread. 

To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread, 
35  To  pick  her  wintry  fagot  from  the  thorn. 

To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn : 

She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train. 

The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain. 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 
40  And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild. 

There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose. 

The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear. 

And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 
16 


182  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xr 

Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 

Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place : 

Unskilful  he  to  fawn  or  seek  for  power, 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour ; 
5     Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 

More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train : 

He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain ; 

The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 
10  Whose  beard,  descending,  swept  his  aged  breast ; 

The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 

Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed. 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 

Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away, 
15  "Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or,  tales  of  sorrow  done, 

Shouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 

Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 

And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe ; 

Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
20  His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus,  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 

And  even  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side; 

But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call. 

He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt,  for  ail. 
25  And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 

To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 

He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 

Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 
Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
30  And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain  by  turns  dismayed, 

The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control, 

Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 

Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 

And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 
35       At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 

His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place ; 

Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway. 

And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
40  "With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 

Even  children  followed  with  endearing  wile. 

And  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed ; 

Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed : 


EX.  Xn.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  183 

To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs,  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff,  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 

5     Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread. 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way. 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule, 

10  The  village  master  taught  his  little  school : 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view ; 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew ; 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face ; 

15  Full  well  they  laughed  and  counterfeited  glee 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round, 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned. 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught, 

20  The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault ; 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew  — 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage, 
And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge. 

25       In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill, 
For  e'en  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still; 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around ; 
And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew, 

30  That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 
But  past  is  all  his  fame.     The  very  spot 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumphed  is  forgot. 

Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  on  high, 
Where  once  the  sign-post  caught  the  passing  eye, 

35  Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  draughts  inspired, 
Where  graybeard  mirth  and  smiling  toil  retired. 
Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound, 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 
Imagination  fondly  stops  to  trace 

40  The  parlor  splendors  of  that  festive  place  ; 

The  whitewashed  wall,  the  nicely-sanded  floor,''^ 
The  varnished  clock  that  clicked  behind  the  door ; 

*  A  most  beautiful  instance  of  onoTno/opcEia,  or  sound  adapted  to  the  sense. 


184  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xn. 

The  chest  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 

A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day ; 

The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use, 

The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of  goose ; 
5     The  hearth,  except  whe;n  winter  chilled  the  day, 

With  aspen  boughs,  and  flowers  and  fennel  gay ; 

While  broken  teacups,  wisely  kept  for  show, 

Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row. 
Vain,  transitory  splendors  !  could  not  all 
10  Reprieve  the  tottering  mansion  from  its  fall  ? 

Obscure  it  sinks,  nor  shall  it  more  impart 

An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart; 

Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 

To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care ; 
15       No  more  the  farmer's  news,  the  barber's  tale, 

No  more  the  woodman's  ballad,  shall  prevail ; 

No  more  the  smith  his  dusky  brow  shall  clear, 

Relax  his  ponderous  strength,  and  learn  to  hear; 

The  host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 
20  Careful  to  see  the  mantling  glass  go  round ; 

Nor  the  coy  maid,  half  willing  to  be  pressed, 

Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest. 

Yes !  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 

These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train; 
25  To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart. 

One  native  charm  than  all  the  gloss  of  art ; 

Spontaneous  joys,  where  nature  has  its  play, 

The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born  sway; 

Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
30  Unenvied,  unmolested,  unconfined. 

But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade. 

With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  arrayed, 

In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain. 

The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain  ; 
35  And  e'en  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy. 

The  heart,  distrusting,  asks  if  this  be  joy. 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen,  who  survey 

The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  decay, 

'T  is  yours  to  judge  how  wide  the  limits  stand 
40  Between  a  splendid  and  a  happy  land. 

Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore, 

And  shouting  Folly  hails  them  from  her  shore ; 

Hoards  e'en  beyond  the  miser's  wish  abound. 

And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 


EX.  Xn.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  185 

Yet  count  our  gains.     This  wealth  is  but  a  name, 

That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 
Not  so  the  loss.     The  man  of  wealth  and  pride 

Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied ; 
5     Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 

Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds ; 

The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 

Has  robbed  the  neighboring  fields  of  half  their  growth ; 
Hie  seat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen, 
10  Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green; 

Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies, 

For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies. 

While  thus  the  land,  adorned  for  pleasure  all. 

In  barren  splendor  feebly  waits  the  fall. 
15       As  some  fair  female,  unadorned  and  plain, 

Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 

Slights  every  borrowed  charm  that  dress  supplies, 

Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes ; 

But  when  those  charms  are  past  —  for  charms  are  frail  — 
20  When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 

She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 

In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress  ;  — 
Thus  fares  the  land  by  luxury  betrayed, 

In  nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  arrayed ; 
25  But,  verging  to  decline,  its  splendors  rise, 

Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise ; 

While,  scourged  by  famine  from  the  smiling  land, 

The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band; 

And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save, 
30  The  country  blooms  —  a  garden  and  a  grave. 

Where,  then,  ah !  where  shall  Poverty  reside, 

To  escape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  Pride  ? 

If  to  some  common's  fenceless  limits  strayed, 

He  drives  his  flock  to  pick  the  scanty  blade, 
85  Those  fenceless  fields  the  sons  of  wealth  divide, 

And  e'en  the  bare-worn  common  is  denied. 
If  to  the  city  sped  — what  waits  him  there? 

To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share ; 

To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combined 
40  To  pamper  luxury  and  thin  mankind ; 

To  see  each  joy  the  sons  of  Pleasure  know 

Extorted  from  his  fellow-creature's  woe. 
Here,  while  the  courtier  glitters  in  brocade, 

There  the  pale  artist  plies  the  sickly  trade; 


186  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xii. 

Here,  while  the  proud  their  long-drawn  pomp  display, 

There  the  black  gibbet  glooms  beside  the  way ; 

The  dome  where  Pleasure  holds  her  midnight  reign, 

Here,  richly  decked,  admits  the  gorgeous  train ; 
5     Tumultuous  pleasure  crowds  the  blazing  square, 

The  rattling  chariots  clash,  the  torches  glare. 
Sure  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy ! 

Sure  these  denote  one  universal  joy  ! 

Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts  ?  —  Ah  !  turn  thine  eyes 
10  Where  the  poor,  houseless,  shivering  female  lies ; 

She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blessed, 

Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  depressed ; 
Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 

Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn ; 
15  Now  lost  to  all,  her  friends,  her  virtue  fled, 

Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head. 

And,  pinched  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from  the  shower, 

With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour, 

When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town, 
20  She  left  her  wheel  and  robes  of  country  brown. 

Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn,  thine,  the  loveliest  train, 

Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate  her  pain  ? 

E'en  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led, 

At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  little  bread ! 
25       Ah,  no.     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene, 

Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between, 

Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 

Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  their  woe. 

Far  different  there  from  all  that  charmed  before, 
30  The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore  ; 

Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray. 

And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day ; 

Those  matted  woods  where  birds  forget  to  sing, 

But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling ; 
35  Those  poisonous  fields  with  rank  luxuriance  crowned, 

Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death  around : 

W^here  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 

The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake ; 

Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless  prey, 
40  And  savage  men,  more  murderous  still  than  they; 

While  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flies. 

Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  with  the  skies. 
Far  different  these  from  every  former  scene, 

The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-vested  green, 


EX.  XnJ  RHETORICAL    READING.  187 

The  breezy  covert  of  the  warbling  grove, 

That  only  sheltered  thefts  of  harmless  love. 

Good  Heaven  !  what  sorrows  gloomed  that  parting  day, 

That  called  them  from  their  native  walks  away ; 
5     When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past. 

Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last, 

And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain 

For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main ; 

And  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 
10  Returned  and  wept,  and  still  returned  to  weep. 
The  good  old  sire  the  first  prepared  to  go 

To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe ; 

But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 

He  only  wished  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 
15       His  lovely  daughter,  lovelier  in  her  tears, 

The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 

Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  charms, 

And  left  a  lover's  for  a  father's  arms. 

With  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her  woes, 
20  And  blessed  the  cot  where  every  pleasure  rose ; 

And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear. 

And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear ; 

While  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief. 

In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 
25       Oh,  Luxury  !  thou  cursed  by  Heaven's  decree, 

How  ill-exchanged  are  things  like  these  for  thee! 

How  do  thy  potions,  with  insidious  joy. 

Diffuse  their  pleasures  only  to  destroy ! 

Kingdoms  by  thee  to  sickly  greatness  grown, 
30  Boast  of  a  florid  vigor  not  their  own. 

At  every  draught  more  large  and  large  they  grow, 

A  bloated  mass  of  rank,  unwieldly  woe  ; 

Till,  sapped  their  strength,  and  every  part  unsound, 

Down,  down  they  sink,  and  spread  a  ruin  round. 
35       E'en  now  the  devastation  is  begun. 

And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done  ; 

E'en  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  stand, 

I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land. 

Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel  spreads  the  sail, 
10  That,  idly  waiting,  flaps  with  every  gale. 

Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band. 

Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 

Contented  Toil,  and  hospitable  Care, 

And  kind  connubial  Tenderness,  are  there; 


188  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xni. 

And  Piety,  with  wishes  placed  above, 

And  steady  Loyalty,  and  faithful  Love. 

And  thou,  sweet  Poetry !   thou  loveliest  maid, 

Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade  ! 
5     Unfit,  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame. 

To  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  Fame : 

Dear,  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 

My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride  ; 

Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss  and  all  my  woe, 
10  That  found'st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so; 

Thou  guide  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel, 

Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue,  fare  thee  well. 
Farewell,  and  oh  I  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 

On  Torno's  cliflfs  or  Pambamarca's  side, 
15  Whether  where  equinoctial  fervors  glow, 

Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow, 

Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time. 

Redress  the  rigors  of  the  inclement  clime ; 

And  slighted  Truth,  with  thy  persuasive  strain, 
20  Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain ; 

Teach  him  that  states,  of  native  strength  possessed, 

Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blessed ; 

That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  decay. 

As  ocean  sweeps  the  labored  mole  away ; 
25  While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 

As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky.  Goldsmith. 


EXERCISE  XIII. 

The  Joufrney  of  a  Day  ;  a  Picture  of  Human  Life. 

Obidah,  the  son  of  Abensina,  left  the  caravansera  early 
m  the  morning,  and  pursued  his  journey  through  the 
plains  of  Indostan.     He  was  fresh  and  vigorous  with  rest; 

30  he  was  animated  with  hope  ;  he  was  incited  by  desire ; 
he  walked  swiftly  forward  over  the  valleys,  and  saw  the 
hills  gradually  rising  before  him. 

As  he  passed  along,  his  ears  were  delighted  with  the 
morning  song  of  the  bird  of  paradise ;  he  was  fanned  by 

35  the  last  flutters  of  the  sinking  breeze,  and  sprinkled  with 
dew  from  groves  of  spices.  He  sometimes  contemplated 
the  towering  height  of  the  oak,  monarch  of  the  hills ;  and 
sometimes  caught  the  gentle  fragrance  of  the  primrose, 


EI.  XUI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  189 

eldest  daughter  of  the  spring :  all  his  senses  were  grati- 
fied, and  all  care  was  banished  from  his  heart. 

Thus  he  went  on,  till  the  sun  approached  his  meridian, 
and  the  increased  heat  preyed  upon  his  strength ;  he  then 

5  looked  round  about  him  for  some  more  commodious  path. 
He  saw,  on  his  right  hand,  a  grove  that  seemed  to  wave 
its  shades  as  a  sign  of  invitation ;  he  entered  it,  and  found 
the  coolness  and  verdure  irresistibly  pleasant. 

He  did  not,  however,  forget  whither  he  was  travelling, 

10  but  found  a  narrow  way  bordered  with  flowers,  which  ap- 
peared to  have  the  same  direction  with  the  main  road  ; 
and  was  pleased,  that,  by  this  happy  experiment,  he  had 
found  means  to  unite  pleasure  with  business,  and  to  gain 
the  rewards  of  diligence  without  suffering  its  fatigues. 

15  He,  therefore,  still  continued  to  walk  for  a  time,  without 
the  least  remission  of  his  ardor,  except  that  he  was  some- 
times tempted  to  stop  by  the  music  of  the  birds,  which  the 
heat  had  assembled  in  the  shade  ;  and  sometimes  amused 
himself  with  plucking  the  flowers  that  covered  the  banks 

20  on  either  side,  or  the  fruits  that  hung  upon  the  branches. 

At  last,  the  green  path  began  to  decline  from  its  first 

tendency,  and  to  wind  among  hills  and  thickets,  cooled 

with  fountains,  and   murmuring  with  waterfalls.     Here 

Obidah  paused  for  a  time,  and  began  to  consider  whether 

25  it  were  longer  safe  to  forsake  the  known  and  common 
track;  but  remembering  that  the  heat  was  now  in  its 
greatest  violence,  and  that  the  plain  was  dusty  and  uneven, 
he  resolved  to  pursue  the  new  path,  which  he  supposed 
only  to  make  a  few  meanders,  in  compliance  with  the  va- 

30  rieties  of  the  ground,  and  to  end  at  last  in  the  common 
road. 

Having  thus  calmed  his  solicitude,  he  renewed  his  pace, 
though  he  suspected  that  he  was  not  gaining  ground. 
This  uneasiness  of  his  mind  inclined  him  to  lay  hold  on 

35  every  new  object,  and  give  way  to  every  sensation  that 
might  soothe  or  divert  him.  He  listened  to  every  echo ; 
he  mounted  every  hill  for  a  fresh  prospect;  he  turned 
aside  to  every  cascade ;  and  pleased  himself  with  tracing 
the  course  of  a  gentle  river  that  rolled  among  the  trees 

40  and  watered  a  large  region  with  innumerable  circumvolu- 
tions. 

In  these  amusements  the  hours  passed  away  unaccount- 
ed; his  deviations  had  perplexed  his  memory,  and  he 
knew  not  towards  what  point  to  travel.     He  stood  pensive 


190  PAEKER'S    exercises  in  [ex.  XIII. 

and  confused,  afraid  to  go  forward  lest  he  should  go  wrong, 
yet  conscious  that  the  time  of  loitering  was  now  past. 
While  he  was  thus  tortured  with  uncertainty,  the  sky  was 
overspread  with  clouds  ;  the  day  vanished  from  before  him, 

5     and  a  sudden  tempest  gathered  round  his  head. 

He  was  now  roused  by  his  danger  to  a  quick  and  pain- 
ful remembrance  of  his  folly;  he  now  saw  how  happiness 
is  lost  when  ease  is  consulted ;  he  lamented  the  unmanly 
impatience  that  prompted  him  to  seek  shelter  in  the  grove. 

10  and  despised  the  petty  curiosity  that  led  him  on  from  trifle 
to  trifle.  While  he  was  thus  reflecting,  the  air  grew 
blacker,  and  a  clap  of  thunder  broke  his  meditation. 

He  now  resolved  to  do  what  yet  remained  in  his  power — 
to  tread  back  the  ground  which  he  had  passed,  and  try  to 

15  find  some  issue  where  the  wood  might  open  into  the  plain. 
He  prostrated  himself  on  the  ground,  and  recommended 
his  life  to  the  Lord  of  Nature.  He  rose  with  confidence 
and  tranquillity,  and  pressed  on  wdth  resolution. 

The  beasts  of  the  desert  were  in  motion,  and  on  every 

20  hand  were  heard  the  mingled  howls  of  rage  and  fear,  and 
ravage  and  expiration.  All  the  horrors  of  darkness  and 
solitude  surrounded  him;  the  winds  roared  in  the  woods, 
and  the  torrents  tumbled  from  the  hills. 

Thus  forlorn  and  distressed,  he  wandered  through  the 

25  wild,  without  knowing  whither  he  was  going,  or  whether 
he  was  every  moment  drawing  nearer  to  safety,  or  to  de- 
struction". At  length,  not  fear,  but  labor,  began  to  over- 
come him  ;  his  breath  grew  short,  and  his  knees  trembled, 
and  he  was  on  the  point  of  lying  down  in  resignation  to 

30  his  fate,  when  he  beheld,  through  the  brambles,  the  glim- 
mer of  a  taper. 

He  advanced  towards  the  light,  and  finding  that  it  pro- 
ceeded from  the  cottage  of  a  hermit,  he  called  humbly  at 
the  door,  and  obtained  admission.     The  old  man  set  be- 

35  fore  him  such  provisions  as  he  had  collected  for  himself, 
on  which  Obidah  fed  with  eagerness  and  gratitude. 

When  the  repast  was  over,  "Tell  me,"  said  the  hermit, 
"by  what  chance  thou  hast  been  brought  hither?  I  have 
been  now  twenty  years  an  inhabitant  of  the  wilderness,  in 

40  which  I  never  saw  a  man  before."  Obidah  then  related 
the  occurrences  of  his  journey,  without  any  concealment 
or  palliation. 

^'  Son,"  said  the  hermit,  "  let  the  errors  and  follies,  the 
dangers  and  escnpe,  of  this  day,  sink  deep  into  thy  heart. 


EX.  XIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  191 

Remember,  my  son,  that  human  life  is  the  journey  of  a 
day.  We  rise  in  the  morning  of  youth,  full  of  vigor,  and 
full  of  expectation ;  we  set  forward  with  spirit  and  hope, 
with  gayety  and  with  diligence,  and  travel  on  a  while  in 

5  the  direct  road  of  piety  towards  the  mansions  of  rest.  In 
a  short  time,  we  remit  our  fervor,  and  endeavor  to  find 
some  mitigation  of  our  duty,  and  some  more  easy  means 
of  obtaining  the  same  end. 

"  We  then  relax  our  vigor,  and  resolve  no  longer  to  be 

10  terrified  with  crimes  at  a  distance ;  but  rely  upon  our  own 
constancy,  and  venture  to  approach  what  we  resolve  never 
to  touch.  We  thus  enter  the  bowers  of  ease,  and  repose 
in  the  shades  of  security.  Here  the  heart  softens,  and 
vigilance  subsides ;  we  are  then  willing  to  inquire  whether 

15  another  advance   cannot  be  made,  and  whether  we  may 

not,  at  least,  turn  our  eyes  upon  the  gardens  of  pleasure. 

"  We  approach  them  with  scruple  and  hesitation  ;  we  enter 

them,  but  enter  timorous  and  trembling;  and  always  hope 

to  pass  through  them  without  losing  the  road  of  virtue, 

20  which,  for  a  while,  we  keep  in  our  sight,  and  to  which  we 
purpose  to  return. 

"  But  temptation  succeeds  temptation,  and  one  compli- 
ance prepares  us  for  another ;  we  in  time  lose  the  happi- 
ness of  innocence,  and  solace  our  disquiet  with  sensual 

25  gratifications.  By  degrees,  we  let  fall  the  remembrance 
of  our  original  intention,  and  quit  the  only  adequate  ob- 
ject of  rational  desire.  We  entangle  ourselves  in  busi- 
ness, immerge  ourselves  in  luxury,  and  rove  through  the 
labyrinths  of  inconstancy;    till  the  darkness  of  old  age 

30  begins  to  invade  us,  and  disease  and  anxiety  obstruct  our 
way. 

"  We  then  look  back  upon  our  lives  with  horror,  with 
sorrow,  with  repentance;  and  wish,  but  too  often  vainly 
wish,  that  we  had  not  forsaken  the  ways  of  virtue.    Happy 

35  are  they,  my  son,  who  shall  learn  from  thy  example  not 
to  despair ;  but  shall  remember,  that,  though  the  day  is 
past,  and  their  strength  is  wasted,  there  yet  remains  one 
effort  to  be  made ;  that  reformation  is  ne^er  hopeless,  nor 
sincere  endeavors  ever  unassisted;  that  the  wanderer  may 

40  at  length  return  after  all  his  errors,  and  that  he  who  im- 
plores strength  and  courage  from  above  shall  find  danger 
and  difficulty  give  way  before  him. 

"Go  now,  my  son,  to  thy  repose  ;  -aeommit  thyself  to  the 
care  of  Omnipotence ;  and  when  the  morning  calls  again 

45  to  toil,  begin  anew  thy  journey  and  thy  life." — Dr.  Johnson. 


192  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xrv 

EXERCISE  XIV 

A  Summer  Morning. 

From  brightening  fields  of  ether  fair  disclosed, 
Child  of  the  Sun,  refulgent  Summer  comes, 
In  pride  of  youth,  and  felt  through  Nature's  depth. 
He  comes  attended  by  the  sultry  Hours, 
5     And  ever-fanning  breezes  on  his  way ; 

While,  from  his  ardent  look,  the  turning  Spring 
Averts  her  blushful  face ;  and  earth  and  skies, 
All  smiling,  to  his  hot  dominion  leaves. 

w  ^  ^  '/^  T^ 

With  what  an  awful,  world-revolving  power 

10  Were  first  the  unwieldly  planets  launched  along 
The  illimitable  void !  thus  to  remain, 
Amid  the  flux  of  many  thousand  years, 
That  oft  has  swept  the  toiling  race  of  men 
And  all  their  labored  monuments  away, 

15  Firm,  unremitting,  matchless,  in  their  course ; 
To  the  kind-tempered  change  of  night  and  day, 
And  of  the  seasons  ever  stealing  round. 
Minutely  faithful ;  such  the  All-perfect  Hand, 
That  poised,  impels,  and  rules  the  steady  whole  ! 

20       When  now  no  more  the  alternate  Twins  are  fired. 
And  Cancer  reddens  with  the  solar  blaze, 
Short  is  the  doubtful  empire  of  the  night ; 
And  soon,  observant  of  approaching  day. 
The  meek-eyed  Morn  appears,  mother  of  dews, 

25  At  first  faint-gleaming  in  the  dappled  east : 
Till  far  o'er  ether  spreads  the  widening  glow ; 
And,  from  before  the  lustre  of  her  face. 
White  break  the  clouds  away.     With  quickened  step, 
Brown  Night  retires  :  young  Day  pours  in  apace, 

30  And  opens  all  the  lawny  prospect  wide. 

The  dripping  rock,  the  mountain's  misty  top. 
Swell  on  the  sight,  and  brighten  with  the  dawn. 

Blue,  through  the  dusk,  the  smoking  currents  shine ; 
And  from  the  bladed  field  the  fearful  hare 

35  Limps,  awkward;  while  along  the  forest  glade 
The  wild  deer  trip,  and,  often  turning,  gaze 
At  early  passenger.     Music  awakes 
The  native  voice  of  undissembled  joy, 
And  thick  around  the  woodland  hymns  arise. 

40       Roused  by  the  cock,  the  soon-clad  shepherd  leaves 


EX.  XIV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  193 

His  mossy  cottage,  where  with  peace  he  dwells ; 

And  from  the  crowded  fold,  in  order,  drives 

His  flock,  to  taste  the  verdure  of  the  mom. 
Falsely  luxurious !  will  not  Man  awake, 
5     And,  springing  from  the  bed  of  sloth,  enjoy 

The  cool,  the  fragrant,  and  the  silent  hour, 

To  meditation  due  and  sacred  song  ? 

For  is  there  aught  in  sleep  can  charm  the  wise  ? 

To  lie  in  dead  oblivion,  losing  half 
10  The  fleeting  moments  of  too  short  a  life ; 

Total  extinction  of  the  enlightened  soul ! 

Or  else,  to  feverish  vanity  alive, 

Wildered,  and  tossing  through  distempered  dreams  ? 
Who  would  in  such  a  gloomy  state  remain 
15  Longer  than  Nature  craves,  when  every  Muse 

And  every  blooming  pleasure  wait  without. 

To  bless  the  wildly-devious  morning  walk  ? 
But  yonder  comes  the  powerful  King  of  Day, 

Rejoicing  in  the  east.     The  lessening  cloud, 
20  The  kindling  azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow 

Illumed  with  fluid  gold,  his  near  approach 

Betoken  glad. 

Lo !  now,  apparent  all, 

Aslant  the  dew-bright  earth  and  colored  air, 
25  He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad ; 

And  sheds  the  shining  day,  that  burnished  plays 

On  rocks,  and  hills,  and  towers,  and  wandering  streams, 

High  gleaming  from  afar. 

Prime  cheerer,  Light ! 
30  Of  all  material  beings  first  and  best ! 

Efflux  divine  !     Nature's  resplendent  robe  ! 

Without  whose  vesting  beauty  all  were  wrapped 

In  unessential  gloom !  and  thou,  O  Sun  ! 

Soul  of  surrounding  worlds  !  in  whom,  best  seen, 
35  Shines  out  thy  Maker  !  may  I  sing  of  thee  ? 
'T  is  by  thy  secret,  strong,  attractive  force. 

As  with  a  chain  indissoluble  bound, 

Thy  system  rolls  entire  :  from  the  far  bourn 

Of  utmost  Saturn,  wheeling  wide  his  round 
40  Of  thirty  years,  to  Mercury,  whose  disk 

Can  scarce  be  caught  by  philosophic  eye, 

Lost  in  the  near  effulgence  of  thy  blaze. 
Informer  of  the  planetary  train  ! 

Without  whose  quickening  glance  their  cumbrous  orb* 
17 


194  Parker's  exercis£:s  l\  [ex.  xv. 

Were  brute,  unlovely  mass,  inert  and  dead, 
And  not,  as  now,  the  green  abodes  of  life ! 
How  many  forms  of  being  wait  on  thee  ! 
Inhaling  spirit;  from  the  unfettered  mind, 
5     By  thee  sublimed,  down  to  the  daily  race, 
The  mixing  myriads  of  thy  setting  beam. 

The  vegetable  world  is  also  thine, 
Parent  of  seasons  !  who  the  pomp  precede 
That  waits  thy  throne,  as  through  thy  vast  domain, 

10     Annual,  along  the  bright  ecliptic  road. 
In  world-rejoicing  state,  it  moves  sublime. 

Meantime  the  expecting  nations,  circled  gay 
With  all  the  various  tribes  of  foodful  earth, 
Implore  thy  bounty,  or  send  grateful  up 

15     A  common  hymn  ;  while,  round  thy  beaming  car, 
High  seen,  the  Seasons  lead,  in  sprightly  dance 
Harmonious  knit,  —  the  rosy-fingered  Hours,  — 
The  Zephyrs  floating  loose,  —  the  timely  Rains, 
Of  bloom  ethereal,  —  the  light-footed  Dews,  — 

20     And  softened  into  joy  the  surly  Storms. 

These,  in  successive  turn,  with  lavish  hand. 
Shower  every  beauty,  every  fragrance  shower. 
Herbs,  flowers  and  fruits ;  till,  kindling  at  thy  touch, 
From  land  to  land  is  flushed  the  vernal  year.^ 

Thomson. 


EXERCISE  XV. 

The  Parable  of  the  Eive  Lamb. 

From  the  Second  Book  of  Samuel,  Chapter  xii. 

25  And  the  Lord  sent  Nathan  unto  David.  And  he  came 
unto  him,  and  said  unto  him,  There  were  two  men  in  one 
city ;  the  one  rich,  and  the  other  poor.  The  rich  man  had 
exceeding  many  flocks  and  herds  :  but  the  poor  man  had 
nothing  save   one  little  ewe  lamb,  which  he  had  bought 

30  and  nourished  up :  and  it  grew  up  together  with  him,  and 
with  his  children  ;  it  did  eat  of  his  own  meat,  and  drank 
of  his  own  cup,  and  lay  in  his  bosom,  and  was  unto  him 
as  a  daughter. 

*  The  student  who  is  in  search  of  poetical  beauties  will  probably  look  in 
vain,  among  ancient  or  modern  authors,  for  a  more  remarkable  instance  of  the 
union  of  beauty  and  sublimity  in  imagery,  than  is  presented  in  the  con- 
cluding portion  of  this  extract. 


EX.  XVI.J  RHETORICAL    READING.  M5 

And  there  came  a  traveller  unto  the  rich  man,  and  he 

spared  to  take  of  his  own  flock  and  of  his  own  herd,  to 

dress  for  the  wayfaring  man  that  was  come  unto  him  ; 

but  took  the  poor  man's  lamb,  and  dressed  it  for  the  man 

5  that  was  come  to  him. 

And  David's  anger  was  greatly  kindled  against  tne  man ; 
and  he  said  to  Nathan,  As  the  Lord  liveth,  the  man  that 
hath  done  this  thing  shall  surely  die.  And  he  shall  re- 
store the  lamb  fourfold,  because  he  did  this  thing,  and 
10  because  he  had  no  pity. 

And  Nathan  said  to  David,  Thou  art  the  man.  Thus 
saith  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  I  anointed  thee  king  over 
Israel,  and  I  delivered  thee  out  of  the  hand  of  Saul.  And 
I  gave  thee  thy  master's  house,  and  thy  master's  wives 
15  into  thy  bosom,  and  gave  thee  the  house  of  Israel  and  of 
Judah ;  and  if  that  had  been  too  little,  I  would  moreover 
have  given  unto  thee  such  and  such  things. 

Wherefore  hast  thou  despised  the  commandment  of  the 
Lord,  to  do  evil  in  his  sight  ?  thou  hast  killed  Uriah  the 
20  Hittite  with  the  sword,  and  hast  taken  his  wife  to  be  thy 
wife,  and  hast  slain  him  with  the  sword  of  the  children  of 
Ammon.  Now  therefore  the  sword  shall  never  depart  from 
thine  house;  because  thou  hast  despised  me,  and  hast  taken 
the  wife  of  Uriah  the  Hittite  to  be  thy  wife.  Thus  saith 
25  the  Lord,  Behold,  I  will  raise  up  evil  against  thee  out  of 
thine  own  house,  and  I  will  take  thy  wives  before  thine 
eyes,  and  give  them  unto  thy  neighbor. 

n^  *  ^T?  •nP  <nP  Wf 

And  David  said  unto  Nathan,  I  have  sinned  against  the 
Lord.  And  Nathan  said  unto  David,  The  Lord  also  hath 
30  put  away  thy  sin  ;  thou  shalt  not  die.  Howbeit,  because 
by  this  deed  thou  hast  given  great  occasion  to  the  enemies 
of  the  Lord  to  blaspheme,  t-he  child  also  that  is  born  unto 
thee  shall  surely  die. 

And  Nathan  departed  unto  his  house. 


EXERCISE  XVI. 

Meditation. 

35         These  are  the  haunts  of  Meditation,  these 

The  scenes  where  ancient  bards  the  inspiring  breath, 
Ecstatic,  felt ;  and,  from  tliis  world  retired, 


196  PAEKER's   exercises   in  [ex.  XVI. 

Conversed  with  angels  and  immortal  forms, 

On  gracious  errands  bent :  to  save  the  fall 

Of  virtue  struggling  on  the  brink  of  vice  ; 

In  waking  whispers,  and  repeated  dreams, 
5     To  hint  pure  thought,  and  warn  the  favored  soul 

For  future  trials  fated  to  prepare  ; 

To  prompt  the  poet,  who,  devoted,  gives 

His  muse  to  better  themes  ;  to  soothe  the  pangs 

Of  dying  worth,  and  from  the  patriot's  breast 
10     (Backward  to  mingle  in  detested  war. 

And  foremost  when  engaged)  to  turn  the  death ; 

An(J,  numberless  such  offices  of  love. 

Daily  and  nightly,  zealous  to  perform. 

Shook  sudden  from  the  bosom  of  the  sky, 
15     A  thousand  shapes  or  glide  athwart  the  dust, 

Or  stalk  majestic  on.     Deep  roused,  I  feel 

A  sacred  terror,  a  severe  delight. 

Creep  through  my  mortal  frame ;  and  thus,  methinks 

A  voice,  than  human  more,  the  abstracted  ear 
20     Of  fancy  strikes  :  —  "Be  not  of  us  afraid, 

Poor  kindred  man  !  thy  fellow-creatures,  we 

From  the  same  parent  power  our  beings  drew. 

The  same  our  Lord,  and  laws,  and  great  pursuit. 

Once  some  of  us,  like  thee,  through  stormy  life 
25     Toiled,  tempest-beaten,  ere  we  could  attain 

This  holy  calm,  this  harmony  of  mind, 
I         Where  purity  and  peace  immingle  charms. 

Then  fear  not  us  ;  but  with  responsive  song. 

Amid  these  dim  recesses,  undisturbed 
30     By  noisy  folly  and  discordant  vice, 

Of  Nature  sing  with  us,  and  Nature's  God. 

Here  frequent,  at  the  visionary  hour 

When  musing  midnight  reigns,  or  silent  noon, 

Angelic  harps  are  in  full  concert  heard, 
35     And  voices  chanting  from  the  wood-crowned  hill, 

The  deepening  dale,  or  inmost  sylvan  glade ; 

A  privilege  bestowed  by  us,  alone, 

On  Contemplation,  or  the  hallowed  ear 

Of  poet,  swelling  to  seraphic  strain.  Thomso7t. 


EX.  XVn."|  RHETORICAL   READING.  197 

EXERCISE  XVII. 

Th£   Planetary  and    Terrestrial   Worlds  comparatively 
considered. 

To  us,  who  dwell  on  its  surface,  the  earth  is  by  far  the" 
most  extensive  orb  that  our  eyes  can  anywhere  behold :  it 
is  also  clothed  with  verdure,  distinguished  by  trees,  and 
adorned  with  a  variety  of  beautiful  decorations  ;  whereas, 
5  to  a  spectator  placed  on  one  of  the  planets,  it  wears  a  uni- 
form aspect;  looks  all  luminous;  and  no  larger  than  a 
spot. 

To  beings  who  dwell  at  still  greater  distances  it  entirely 
disappears.     That  which  we  call  alternately  the  morning 

10  and  the  evening  star  (as  in  one  part  of  the  orbit  she  rides 
foremost  in  the  procession  of  night,  in  the  other  ushers  in 
and  anticipates  the  dawn)  is  a  planetary  world.  This 
planet,  and  the  four  others  that  so  wonderfully  vary  their 
mystic  dance,  are  in  themselves  dark  bodies,  and  shine 

15  only  by  reflection  ;  have  fields  and  seas  and  skies  of  their 
own ;  are  furnished  with  all  accommodations  for  animal 
subsistence,  and  are  supposed  to  be  the  abodes  of  intellect- 
ual life ;  all  which,  together  with  our  earthly  habitations, 
are  dependent  on  that  grand  dispenser  of  divine  munifi- 

20  cence,  the  sun ;  receive  their  light  from  the  distribution 
of  his  rays,  and  derive  their  comfort  from  his  benign 
agency. 

The  sun,  which  seems  to  perform  its  daily  stages  through 
the  sky,  is  in  this  respect  fixed  and  immovable  ;  it  is  the 

25  great  axle  of  heaven,  about  which  the  globe  we  inhabit, 
and  other  more  spacious  orbs,  wheel  their  stated  courses. 
The  sun,  though  seemingly  smaller  than  the  dial  it  illumi- 
nates, is  abundantly  larger  than  this  whole  earth,  on  which 
so  many  lofty  mountains  rise,  and  such  vast  oceans  roll. 

30  A  line  extending  from  side  to  side,  through  the  centre  of 
that  resplendent  orb,  would  measure  more  than  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  miles ;  a  girdle  formed  to  go  round  its  cir- 
cumference would  require  a  length  of  millions.  Were  its 
solid  contents  to  be  estimated,  the  account  would  overwhelm 

35  our  understanding,  and  be  almost  beyond  the  power  of 
language  to  express.  Are  we  startled  at  these  reports  of 
philosophy  ? 

Are  we  ready  to  cry  out,  in  a  transport  of  surprise, 
"How  mighty  is  the  Being  who  kindled  so  prodigious  a 

40  fire,  and  keeps  alive,  from  age  to  age,  so  enormous  a  mass 
18* 


198  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xveu 

of  flame  ? "  Let  us  attend  our  philosophical  guides,  and 
we  shall  be  brought  acquainted  with  speculations  more 
enlarged  and  more  inflaming. 

This  sun,  with  all  its  attendant  planets,  is  but  a  very 

5  little  part  of  the  grand  machine  of  the  universe ;  every 
star,  though  in  appearance  no  bigger  than  the  diamond 
that  glitters  upon  a  lady's  ring,  is  really  a  vast  globe,  like 
the  sun  in  size  and  in  glory ;  no  less  spacious,  no  less 
luminous,  than  the  radiant  source  of  day.     So  that  every 

10  star  is  not  barely  a  world,  but  the  centre  of  a  magnificent 
system ;  has  a  retinue  of  worlds,  irradiated  by  its  beams, 
and  revolving  round  its  attractive  influence,  all  which  are 
lost  to  our  sight  in  unmeasurable  wilds  of  ether. 

That  the  stars  appear  like   so  many  diminutive   and 

15  scarcely  distinguishable  points,  is  owing  to  their  immense 
and  inconceivable  distance.  Immense  and  inconceivable 
indeed  it  is,  since  a  ball  shot  from  the  loaded  cannon,  and 
flying  with  unabated  rapidity,  must  travel,  at  this  impetu- 
ous rate,  almost  seven  hundred  thousand  years,  before  it 

20  could  reach  the  nearest  of  these  twinkling  luminaries. 

While,  beholding  this  vast  expanse,  I  learn  my  own  ex- 
treme meanness,  I  would  also  discover  the  abject  littleness 
of  all  terrestrial  things.  What  is  the  earth,  with  all  her 
ostentatious  scenes,  compared  with  this  astonishing  grand 

25  furniture  of  the  skies  ?  what,  but  a  dim  speck,  hardly  per- 
ceivable in  the  map  of  the  universe  ? 

It  is  observed  by  a  very  judicious  writer,  that  if  the  sun 
himself,  which  enlightens  this  part  of  the  creation,  were 
extinguished,  and  all  the  host  of  planetary  worlds,  which 

30  move  about  him,  were  annihilated,  they  would  not  be 
missed  by  an  eye  that  can  take  in  the  whole  compass  of 
nature,  any  more  than  a  grain  of  sand  upon  the  sea-shore. 
The  bulk  of  which  they  consist,  and  the  space  which  they 
occupy,  are   so  exceedingly  little  in  comparison  of  the 

35  whole,  that  their  loss  would  scarcely  leave  a  blank  in  the 
immensity  of  God's  works. 

If,  then,  not  our  globe  only,  but  this  whole  system,  be 
so  very  diminutive,  what  is  a  kingdom,  or  a  country? 
What  are  a  few  lordships,  or  the  so  much  admired  patri- 

40  monies  of  those  who  are  st3ded  wealthy  ?  When  I  meas- 
ure them  with  my  own  little  pittance,  they  swell  into 
proud  and  bloated  dimensions :  but  when  I  take  the  uni- 
verse for  my  standard,  how  scanty  is  their  size,  how 
contemptible    their   figure!     They  shrink  into  pompous 

45  nothings. — Addison, 


EX.  XVIU.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  199 

EXERCISE  XVIII. 
Quarrel  between  Roderick  Dku  and  Fitz-James, 

The  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down, 

The  woods  are  wrapped  in  deeper  brown, 

The  owl  awakens  from  her  dell, 

The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell ; 
5         Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light 

To  guide  the  wanderer's  steps  aright. 

Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 

His  figure  to  the  watchful  foe. 

With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awake, 
10       He  climbs  the  crag  and  threads  the  brake  ; 

And  not  the  summer  solstice  there 
^  Tempered  the  midnight  mountain  air. 

But  every  breeze  that  swept  the  wold 

Benumbed  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold. 
15  In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone. 

Famished  and  chilled,  through  ways  unknown, 

Tangled  and  steep,  he*  journeyed  on ; 

Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turned, 

A  watch-fire  close  before  him  burned. 
20  Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear. 

Basked,  in  his  plaid,  a  mountaineer ; 

And  up  he  sprung,  with  sword  in  hand,  — 

"  Thy  name  and  purpose  !  Saxon,  stand ! "  — 

"  A  stranger."  —  "  What  dost  thou  require  ? "  — 
25       "  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 

My  life  's  beset,  my  path  is  lost. 

The  gale  has  chilled  my  limbs  with  frost." — 
"  Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick  ?  "  —  "  No."  — 

"  Thou  darest  not  call  thyself  a  foe  ?  "  — 
30       "  I  dare  !  to  him  and  all  the  band 

He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  hand."  — 

"  Bold  words  !  —  but  though  the  beast  of  game 

The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim. 

Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 
35       Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend, 

Who  ever  recked,  where,  how,  or  when. 

The  prowling  fox.  was  trapped  or  slain  ? 

Thus  treacherous  scouts,  —  yet  sure  they  lie, 

Who  say  thou  cam'st  a  secret  spy ! "  — 

♦  Fitz-James. 


200  Parker's  exercises  m  [ex.  xvin. 

"  They  do,  by  heaven !  —  C^me  Roderick  Dhu, 

And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two, 

And  let  me  but  till  morning  rest, 

I  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest."  — 
6  "  If  by  the  blaze  I  mark  aright, 

Thou  bear'st  the  belt  and  spur  of  knight."  — 

"  Then  by  these  tokens  may'st  thou  know 

Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe."  — 
"  Enough,  enough ;  sit  down  and  share 
10         A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare." 

He  gave  him  of  his  highland  cheer, 

The  hardened  flesh  of  mountain  deer ; 

Dry  fuel  on  the  fire  he  laid. 

And  bade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid ; 
15         He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest, 

Then  thus  his  further  speech  addressed : 
"  Stranger,  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 

A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true  ; 

Each  word  against  his  honor  spoke 
20         Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke  ; 

Yet  more,  —  upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said, 

A  mighty  augury  is  laid. 

It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn,  — 

Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne ; 
25         It  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand, 

Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand ; 

But,  nor  for  clan  nor  kindred's  cause. 

Will  I  depart  from  honor's  laws : 

To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame, 
30         And  stranger  is  a  holy  name ; 

Guidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire, 

In  vain  he  never  must  require. 

Then  rest  thee  here  till  dawn  of  day, 

Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way, 
35         O'er  stock  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Till  past  Clan-Alpin's  outmost  guard, 

As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford ; 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword."  — 
"  I  take  thy  courtesy,  by  heaven, 
40         As  freely  as  't  is  nobly  given  !  "  — 

"  Well,  rest  thee ;  for  the  bittern's  cry 

Sings  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby." 

With  that  he  shook  the  gathered  heath. 

And  spread  his  plaid  upon  the  wreath ; 


EX.  XVIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  201 

And  the  brave  foemen,  side  by  sMe, 
Lay  peaceful  down,  like  broth erPtried, 
And  slept  until  the  dawning  beam 
Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  stream. 

6  That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen, 

Was  twinkling  through  the  hazel  screen, 

When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 

The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed, 

Looked  out  upon  the  dappled  sky, 
10         Muttered  their  soldier  matins  by, 

And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  steal, 

As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 
That  o'er,  the  Gael=^  around  him  threw 

His  graceful  plaid  of  varied  hue, 
15         And,  true  to  promise,  led  the  way, 

By  thicket  green  and  mountain  gray. 

A  wildering  path  !  —  they  winded  now 

Along  the  precipice's  brow, 

Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath,  — 
20         The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith, 

And  all  the  vales  between  that  lie,  \ 

Till  Stirling's  turrets  melt  in  sky; 

Thence,  sunk  in  copse,  their  farthest  glance 

Gained  not  the  length  of  horseman's  lance. 
25  'T  was  oft  so  steep,  the  foot  was  fain 

Assistance  from  the  hand  to  gain  : 

So  tangled  oft,  that,  bursting  through. 

Each  hawthorn  shed  her  showers  of  dew,  — 

That  diamond  dew,  so  pure  and  clear. 

It  rivals  all  but  Beauty's  tear ! 
30  At  length  they  came  where,  stern  and  steep, 

The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep ; 

So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace. 

The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace, 
35         Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaws. 

And  asked  Fitz-James  by  what  strange  cause 

He  sought  these  wilds ;  traversed  by  few. 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu  ? 
"  Brave  Gael,  my  pass,  in  danger  tried, 
40         Hangs  in  my  belt,  and  by  my  side  ; 

*  The  Scottish  Highlander  calls  himself  Gael,  or  Gaul,  aad  terms  the 
Lowlander,  Sasgenach^  or  Saxon. 


202  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  ivra. 

Yet,  sooth  to  tell,"  the  Saxon  said, 

"  I  dreamed  not  now  to  claim  its  aid ; 

When  here,  but  three  days'  since,  I  came, 

Bewildered  in  pursuit  of  game, 
5  All  seemed  as  peaceful,  and  as  still, 

As  the  mist  slumbering  on  yon  hill ; 

Thy  dangerous  chief  was  then  afar, 

Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war ; 

Thus  said,  at  least,  my  mountain  guide, 
10         Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villain  lied."  — 
"  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try?"  — 

"  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why !  — 

Moves  our  free  course  by  such  fixed  cause 

As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws  ? 
15         Enough  I  sought  to  drive  away 

The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day ; 

Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide 

A  knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide  ; 

A  falcon  flown,  a  grayhound  strayed, 
20         The  merry  glance  of  mountain  maid  : 

Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known, 

The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone."  — 
"  Thy  secret  keep ;  I  urge  thee  not ; 

Yet,  ere  again  ye  sought  this  spot, 
25         Say,  heard  ye  nought  of  lowland  war. 

Against  Clan-Alpin  raised  by  Mar?"  — 
"  No,  by  my  word ;  —  of  bands  prepared 

To  guard  King  James's  sports  I  heard  ; 

Nor  doubt  I  aught,  but  when  they  hear 
30         This  muster  of  the  mountaineer. 

Their  pennons  will  abroad  be  flung. 

Which  else  in  Doune  had  peaceful  hung."  — 
"  Free  be  they  flung !  —  for  we  were  loth 

Their  silken  folds  should  feast  the  moth. 
35         Free  be  they  flung !  —  as  free  shall  wave 

Clan-Alpin's  pine  in  banner  brave. 

But,  stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came. 

Bewildered  in  the  mountain  game. 

Whence  the  bold  boast  by  which  you  show 
40         Vich-Alpin's  vowed  and  mortal  foe  ?"  — 
"  Warrior,  but  yester-morn,  I  knew 

Nought  of  thy  chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 

Save  as  an  exiled,  desperate  man. 

The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan, 


EX.  XVIII. J  RHETORICAL   READING.  iM^ 

Who,  in  the  regent's  court  and^j^ht, 

With  ruffian  dagger  stabbed  a  knight. 

Yet  this  alone  might  from  his  part 

Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart." 
5  Wrathful  at  such  arraignment  foul, 

Dark  lowered  the  clansman's  sable  scowl : 

A  space  he  paused,  then  sternly  said,  — 

"  And  heardst  thou  why  he  drew  his  blade  ? 

Heardst  thou  that  shameful  word  and  blow 
10         Brought  Roderick's  vengeance  on  his  foe  ? 

What  recked  the  chieftain,  if  he  stood 

On  highland  heath,  or  Holy-Rood  ? 

He  writes  such  wrong  where  it  is  given, 

If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven  ! " — 
15  "  Still  was  it  outrage ;  —  yet,  't  is  true, 

Not  then  claimed  sovereignty  his  due ; 

While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand, 

Held  borrowed  truncheon  of  command, 

The  young  king,  mewed  in  Stirling  tower, 
20        Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power. 

But  then  thy  chieftain's  robber  life  — 

Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife. 

Wrenching  from  ruined  lowland  swain 

His  herds  and  han'est  reared  in  vain  — 
25         Methinks  a  soul  like  thine  should  scorn 

The  spoils  from  such  foul  foray  borne ! " 
The  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while, 

And  answered  with  disdainful  smile, — 

"  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high, 
30         I  marked  thee  send  delighted  eye 

Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay. 

Extended  in  succession  gay. 

Deep  waving  fields  and  pastures  green. 

With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between. 
35  These  fertile  plains,  that  softened  vale. 

Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael ; 

The  stranger  came  with  iron  hand. 

And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 

Where  dwell  we  now  ?     See  rudely  swell 
40         Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 

Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread 

For  fattened  steer  or  household  bread ; 

Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, 

And  well  the  mountain  might  reply,  — r 


204  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xna. 

To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore, 

Belong  the  target  and  claymore  ! 

I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast, 

Your  own  good  blades  must  win  the  rest.* 
6  Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 

Think'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth, 

To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may. 

And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey  ? 

Ay,  by  my  soul !  —  While  on  yon  plain 
10         The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain  ; 

While,  of  ten  thousand  herds,  there  strays 

But  one  along  yon  river's  maze,  — 

The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir. 

Shall  with  strong  hand  redeem  his  share. 
15  Where  live  the  mountain  chiefs  who  hold 

That  plundering  lowland  field  and  fold 

Is  aught  but  retribution  due  ? 

Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu." 
Answered  Fitz-James,  —  "  And,  if  I  sought 
20         Think'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought? 

What  deem  ye  of  my  path  waylaid. 

My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  ?  "  — 
"  As  of  a  meed  to  rashness  due : 

Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, — 
25         I  seek  my  hound,  or  falcon  strayed, 

I  seek,  good  faith,  a  highland  maid, — 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go ; 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 
Nor  yet  for  this,  e'en  as  a  spy, 
30         Hadst  thou  unheard  been  doomed  to  die, 

Save  to  fulfil  an  augury."  — 

"  Well,  let  it  pass ;  nor  will  I  now 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow. 

To  chafe  thy  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow. 
85  Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride  : 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan-Alpin's  glen 

In  peace ;  but,  when  I  come  again, 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow, 
40         As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe  ; 

For  lovelorn  swain,  in  lady's  bower. 

Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 

As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

This  rebel  chieftain  and  his  band." 


EX.  XVin.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  205 

"  Have  then  thy  wish  !  "     H^vhistled  shrill, 

And  he  was  answered  from  the  hill ; 

Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 

From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew ; 
5  Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 

Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows ; 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 

Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe ; 
Ffom  shingles  gray  their  lances  start, 
10         The  bracken-bush  sends  forth  the  dart, 

The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand, 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 
V  To  plaided  warrior  armed  for  strife. 

15  That  whistle  garrisoned  the  glen 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men. 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

A  subterranean  host  had  given  ; 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 
20         All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still. 

Like  the  loose  crags,  whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass. 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 
25         With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 

Upon  the  mountain  side  they  hung. 
The  mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Along  Benledi's  living  side. 

Then  fixed  his  eye  and  sable  brow 
30         Full  on  Fitz- James,  —  "  How  say'st  thou  now  ? 

These  are  Clan-Alpin's  warriors  true : 

And,  Saxon,  —  I  am  Roderick  Dhu !  " 

Fitz-James  was  brave  :  —  though  to  his  heart 

The  life-blood  thrilled  with  sudden  start, 
35         He  manned  himself  with  dauntless  air, 

Returned  the  chief  his  haughty  stare, 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore. 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before  : 

"  Come  one,  come  all !  this  rock  shall  fly 
40         From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I." 

Sir  Roderick  marked  —  and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 
18 


206  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  ivin. 

Short  space  he  stood — then  waved  his  hand; 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band ; 

Each  warrior  vanished  where  he  stood, 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood ; 
5  Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow 

In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low ; 

It  seemed  as  if  their  mother  earth 

Had  swallowed  up  her  warlike  birth. 
The  wind's  last  breath  had  tossed  in  air 
10         Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair, — 

The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side, 

Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide ; 

The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted  back 

From  lance  and  glaive,  from  targe  and  jack,  — 
15         The  next,  all  unreflected,  shone 

On  bracken  green,  and  cold  gray  stone. 

Fitz- James  looked  round  —  yet  scarce  believed 

The  witness  that  his  sight  received ; 

Such  apparition  well  might  seem 
20         Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed. 

And  to  his  look  the  chief  replied, 

"  Fear  nought  —  nay,  that  I  need  not  say  — 

But  —  doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 
25         Thou  art  my  guest ;  I  pledged  my  word 

As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford : 

Nor  would  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 

For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand, 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 
30         Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael. 
So  move  we  on  ;  I  only  meant. 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 

Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu." 
35         They  moved  —  I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave 

As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive ; 

Yet  dare  not  say  that  now  his  blood 

Kept  on  its  wont  and  tempered  flood. 

As,  following  Roderick's  strides,  he  drew 
40         That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through, 

Which  yet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife 

With  lances,  that  to  take  his  life 

Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide 

So  late  dishonored  and  defied. 


EX,  XVIII.]  RIIKTORICAL   READING.  207 

Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eye  sougM^ound 

The  vanished  guardians  of  the  ground, 

And  still  from  copse  and  heather  deep 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep, 
5  And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain 

The  signal  whistle  heard  again. 
Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 

The  pass  was  left ;  for  then  they  wind 

Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 
10         Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 

Nor  rush  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near, 

To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear. 

The  chief  in  silence  strode  before, 

And  reached  the  torrent's  sounding  shore. 
15  ^  #  ^  #  ^  * 

And  here  his  course  the  chieftain  staid, 

Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid, 

And  to  the  lowland  warrior  said  :  — 

"  Bold  Saxon !  to  his  promise  just, 

20         Vich-Alpin  has  discharged  his  trust ; 

This  murderous  chief,  this  ruthless  man, 

This  head  of  a  rebellious  clan, 

Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Far  past  Clan-Alpin's  outmost  guard. 
25        Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 

A  chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel. 

See,  here  all  vantageless  I  stand, 

Armed,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand ; 

For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 
30         And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword." 
The  Saxon  paused:  —  "I  ne'er  delayed. 

When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade ; 

Nay  more,  brave  chief,  I  vowed  thy  death : 

Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith, 
35         And  my  deep  debt  for  life  preserved, 

A  better  meed  have  well  deserved  : 
Can  nought  but  blood  our  feud  atone  ? 

Are  there  no  means  ? " —  "  No,  stranger,  none ! 

And  here,  —  to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal,  — 
40         The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel ; 

For  thus  spoke  Fate,  by  prophet  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead : 

*  Who  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 

His  party  conquers  in  the  strife.'  "  — 


208  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xvm. 

"  Then,  by  my  word,"  the  Saxon  said, 

"  The  riddle  is  already  read  ; 

See  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff,  — 

There  lies  Red  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 
5  Thus  Fate  hath  solved  her  prophecy, 

Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me ; 
To  James,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go, 

When,  if  thou  wilt,  be  still  his  foe ; 

Or,  if  the  king  shall  not  agree 
10         To  grant  thee  grace  and  favor  free, 

I  plight  mine  honor,  oath  and  word. 

That,  to  thy  native  strength  restored. 

With  each  advantage  shalt  thou  stand 

That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  land." 
15  Dark  lightning  flashed  from  Roderick's  eye  — 

"  Soars  thy  presumption,  then,  so  high, 

Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew, 

Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dhu  ? 

He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  Fate ! 
20         Thou  add'st  but  fuel  to  my  hate.  — 

My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge  !  — 
Not  yet  prepared  ? —  By  heaven,  I  change 

My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valor  light, 

As  that  of  some  vain  carpet  knight, 
25         Who  ill  deserved  my  courteous  care, 

And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 

A  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair!"  — 

"  I  thank  thee,  Roderick,  for  the  word ! 

It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword ; 
30         For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 

In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 

Now,  truce,  farewell !  and  ruth,  begone  !  — 

Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone. 

Proud  chief !  can  courtesy  be  shown. 
35  Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn, 

Start  at  my  whistle  clansmen  stern. 

Of  this  small  horn  one  feeble  blast 

Would  fearful  odds  against  thee  cast ; 

But  fear  not  —  doubt  not  —  which  thou  wilt, 
40         We  try  this  quarrel  hilt  to  hilt." 

Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew. 

Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw. 

Each  looked  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 

As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again  ; 


EX.  XVIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  209 

Then,  foot,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed, 

In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed. 
Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 

That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw, 
6  Whose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-hide 

Had  death  so  often  dashed  aside ; 

For,  trained  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 

Fitz- James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. 
He  practised  every  pass  and  ward, 
10         To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard ; 

While  less  expert,  though  stronger  far. 

The  Gael  maintained  unequal  war. 
^  Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood. 

And  thrice  the  Saxon  sword  drank  blood ; 
15         No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide, 

The  gushing  flood  the  tartans  dyed. 
Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain, 

And  showered  his  blows  like  wintry  rain ; 

And,  as  firm  rock,  or  castle  roof, 
20         Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof. 

The  foe,  invulnerable  still. 

Foiled  his  wild  rage  by  steady  skill ; 

Till,  at  advantage  ta'en,  his  brand 

Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand, 
25         And,  backwards  borne  upon  the  lee. 

Brought  the  proud  chieftain  to  his  Imee. 
"  Now  yield  thee,  or,  by  Him  who  made 

The  world,  thy  heart's  blood  dies  my  blade !  "  — 

"  Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  I  defy ! 
30         Let  recreant  yield  who  fears  to  die." 

Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil. 

Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil. 

Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young, 

Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung, 
35         Received,  but  recked  not  of  a  wound. 

And  locked  his  arms  his  foeman  round.  — 
Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own ! 

No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown ! 

That  desperate  grasp  thy  frame  might  feel 
40         Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel ! 

They  tug,  they  strain ;  — down,  down  they  go, 

The  Gael  above,  Fitz- James  below. 

The  chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  compressed, 

His  knee  was  planted  on  his  breast; 
18* 


210  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xix. 

His  clotted  locks  he  backward  threw, 

Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew, 

From  blood  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight, 

Then  gleamed  aloft  his  dagger  bright ! 
5  But  hate  and  fury  ill  supplied 

The  stream  of  life's  exhausted  tide, 

And  all  too  late  the  advantage  came, 

To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game  ; 

For,  while  the  dagger  gleamed  on  high, 
10         Reeled  soul  and  sense,  reeled  brain  and  eye ; 

Down  came  the  blow !  but  in  the  heath 

The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 
The  struggling  foe  may  now  unclasp 

The  fainting  chief's  relaxing  grasp ; 
15         Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 

But  breathless  all,  Fitz-James  arose. 
He  faltered  thanks  to  Heaven  for  life 

Redeemed,  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife ; 

Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  cast, 
20         Whose  every  gasp  appeared  his  last ; 

In  Roderick's  gore  he  dipped  the  braid.  — 

"  Poor  Blanche  !  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  paid , 

Yet  with  thy  foe  must  die  or  live 

The  praise  that  Faith  and  Valor  give."       W.  Scott 


EXERCISE  XIX. 
Schemes  of  Life  often  Illusory. 

25  Omar,  the  son  of  Hassan,  had  passed  seventy-five  years 
in  honor  and  prosperity.  The  favor  of  three  successive 
califs  had  filled  his  house  with  gold  and  silver ;  and  when- 
ever he  appeared,  the  benedictions  of  the  people  proclaimed 
his  passage. 

30       Terrestrial   happiness   is   of  short   continuance.     The 
brightness  of  the  flame  is  wasting  its  fuel ;  the  fragrant 
flower  is  passing  away  in  its  own  odors.     The  vigor  of 
Omar  began  to  fail;  the  curls   of  beauty  fell  from  his. 
head ;  strength  departed  from  his  hands,  and  agility  from 

35  his  feet.  He  gave  back  to  the  calif  the  keys  of  trust,  and 
the  seals  of  secrecy;  and  sought  no  other  pleasure  for  the 
remains  of  life  than  the  converse  of  the  wise  and  the 
gratitude  of  the  good. 


EX.  XIX.]  RHETORICAL   RFAUIXCr.  211 

The  powers  of  his  mind  were  yet  unimpaired.  His 
chamber  was  filled  by  visitants,  eager  to  catch  the  dictates 
of  experience,  and  officious  to  pay  the  tribute  of  admira- 
tion.    Caled,  the  son  of  the  viceroy  of  Egypt,  entered 

5     every  day  early,  and  retired  late.     He  was  beautiful  and 
eloquent:  Omar  admired  his  wit,  and  loved  his  docility. 
"  Tell  me,"  said  Caled,  "  thou  to  whose  voice  nations 
have  listened,  and  whose  wisdom  is  known  to  the  extremi- 
ties of  Asia,  tell  me  how  I  may  resemble  Omar  the  prudent. 

10  The  arts  by  which  thou  hast  gained  power  and  preserved 
it  are  to  thee  no  longer  necessary  or  useful ;  impart  to 
me  the  secret  of  thy  conduct,  and  teach  me  the  plan  upon 
which  thy  wisdom  has  built  thy  fortune." 

"Young  man,"  said  Omar,  "it  is  of  little  use  to  form 

15  plans  of  life.  When  I  took  my  first  survey  of  the  world, 
in  my  twentieth  year,  having  considered  the  various  con- 
ditions of  mankind,  in  the  hour  of  solitude  I  said  thus  to 
myself,  leaning  against  a  cedar,  which  spread  its  branches 
over  my  head :  '  Seventy  years  are  allowed  to  man ;  I 

20  have  yet  fifty  remaining. 

" '  Ten  years  I  will  allot  to  the  attainment  of  knowl- 
edge, and  ten  I  will  pass  in  foreign  countries ;  I  shall  be 
learned,  and  therefore  shall  be  honored ;  every  city  will 
shout  at  my  arrival,  and  every  student  will  solicit  my 

25  friendship.  Twenty  years  thus  passed  will  store  my 
mind  with  images,  which  I  shall  be  busy,  through  the  rest 
of  my  life,  in  combining  and  comparing.  I  shall  revel  in 
inexhaustible  accumulations  of  intellectual  riches  ;  I  shall 
find  new  pleasures  for  every  moment,  and  shall  never 

30  more  be  weary  of  myself. 

" '  I  will  not,  however,  deviate  too  far  from  the  beaten 
track  of  life ;  but  will  try  what  can  be  found  in  female 
delicacy.  I  will  marry  a  wife  beautiful  as  the  Houries, 
and  wise  as  Zobeide ;  with  her  I  will  live  twenty  years 

35  within  the  suburbs  of  Bagdat,  in  every  pleasure  that 
wealth  can  purchase,  and  fancy  can  invent. 

"'I  will  then  retire  to  a  rural  dwelling;  pass  my  days 
in  obscurity  and  contemplation  ;  and  lie  silently  down  on 
the  bed  of  death.     Through  my  life  it  shall  be  my  settled 

40  resolution,  that  I  will  never  depend  upon  the  smile  of 
princes ;  that  I  will  never  stand  exposed  to  the  artifices  of 
courts  ;  I  will  never  pant  for  public  honors,  nor  disturb 
my  quiet  with  the  aflfairs  of  state.'  Such  was  my  scheme 
of  life,  which  I  impressed  indelibly  upon  my  memory. 


212  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xix. 

"  The  first  part  of  my  ensuing  time  was  to  be  spent  in 
search  of  knowledge,  and  I  know  not  how  I  was  diverted 
from  my  design.  I  had  no  visible  impediments  without, 
nor  any  ungovernable  passions  within.     I  regarded  knowl- 

5  edge  as  the  highest  honor,  and  the  most  engaging  pleas- 
ure;  yet  day  stole  upon  day,  and  month  glided  after 
month,  till  I  found  that  seven  years  of  the  first  ten  had 
vanished,  and  left  nothing  behind  them. 

"  I  now  postponed  my  purpose  of  travelling ;  for  why 

10  should  I  go  abroad,  while  so  much  remained  to  be  learned 
at  home  ?  I  immured  myself  for  four  years,  and  studied 
the  laws  of  the  empire.  The  fame  of  my  skill  reached 
the  judges  :  I  was  found  able  to  speak  upon  doubtful  ques- 
tions, and  was  commanded  to  stand  at  the  footstool  of  the 

15  calif.  I  was  heard  with  attention ;  I  was  consulted  with 
confidence,  and  the  love  of  praise  fastened  on  my  heart. 

"  I  still  wished  to  see  distant  countries ;  listened  with 
rapture  to  the  relations  of  travellers,  and  resolved  some 
time  to  ask  my  dismission,  that  I  might  feast  my  soul  with 

20  novelty ;  but  my  presence  was  always  necessary,  and  the 
stream  of  business  hurried  me  along.  Sometimeaj^,!  was 
afraid  lest  I  should  be  charged  with  ingratitude  ;  but  I 
still  proposed  to  travel,  and  therefore  would  not  confine 
myself  by  marriage. 

25  "  In  my  fiftieth  year  I  began  to  suspect  that  the  time  of 
travelling  was  past ;  and  thought  it  best  to  lay  hold  on  the 
felicity  yet  in  my  power,  and  indulge  myself  in  domestic 
pleasures.  But  at  fifty  no  man  easily  finds  a  woman 
beautiful  as  the  Houries,  and  wise  as  Zobeide.     I  inquired 

30  and  rejected,  consulted  and  deliberated,  till  the  sixty-sec- 
ond year  made  me  ashamed  of  wishing  to  marry.  I  had 
now  nothing  left  but  retirement;  and  for  retirement  1 
never  found  a  time,  till  disease  forced  me  from  public  em- 
ployment. 

35  "  Such  was  my  scheme,  and  such  has  been  its  conse- 
quence. With  an  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge,  I  trifled 
away  the  years  of  improvement;  with  a  restless  desire  of 
seeing  different  countries,  I  have  always  resided  in  the 
same  city ;  with  the  highest  expectation  of  connubial  felic- 

40  ity,  I  have  lived  unmarried ;  and  with  unalterable  resolu- 
tions of  contemplative  retirement,  I  am  going  to  die  with- 
in the  walls  of  Bagdat."  —  Dr.  Johnson. 


8X.  XX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  213 

EXERCISE  XX. 
A  Dream. 

1  HAD  a  dream  —  a  strange,  wild  dream  — 

Said  a  dear  voice  at  early  light ; 

And  even  yet  its  shadows  seem 

To  linger  in  my  waking  sight. 
5  Earth,  green  with  spring,  and  fresh  with  dew, 

And  bright  with  morn,  before  me  stood; 

And  airs,  just  wakened,  softly  blew 

On  the  young  blossoms  of  the  wood. 
Birds  sang  within  the  sprouting  shade, 
10     Bees  hummed  amid  the  whispering  grass. 

And  children  prattled  as  they  played 

Beside  the  rivulet's  dimpling  glass. 

Fast  climbed  the  sun  :  the  flowers  were  flown, 

There  played  no  children  in  the  glen ; 
15     For  some  were  gone,  and  some  were  grown 

To  blooming  dames  and  bearded  men. 
'Twas  noon,  'twas  summer:  I  beheld 

Woods  darkening  in  the  flush  of  day, 

And  that  bright  rivulet  spread  and  swelled, 
20     A  mighty  stream,  with  creek  and  bay. 

And  here  was  love,  and  there  was  strife, 

And  mirthful  shouts,  and  wrathful  cries, 

And  strong  men,  struggling  as  for  life, 

With  knotted  limbs  and  angry  eyes. 
25         Now  stooped  the  su»  —  the  shades  grew  thin ; 

The  rustling  paths  were  piled  with  leaves  j 

And  sun-burnt  groups  were  gathering  in, 

From  the  shorn  field,  its  fruits  and  sheaves. 
The  river  heaved  with  sullen  sounds ; 
30     The  chilly  winds  were  sad  with  moans ; 

Black  hearses  passed,  and  burial-grounds 

Grew  thick  with  monumental  stones. 

Still  waned  the  day ;  the  wind  that  chased 

The  jagged  clouds  blew  chillier  yet; 
35     The  woods  were  stripped,  the  fields  were  waste. 

The  wintry  sun  was  near  its  set. 

And  of  the  young,  and  strong,  and  fair, 

A  lonely  remnant,  gray  and  weak. 

Lingered  and  shivered  to  the  air 
40     Of  that  bleak  shore  and  water  bleak. 


214  FARKEr's   exercises    in  [ex.  XXL 

Ah !  age  is  drear,  and  death  is  cold ! 
I  turned  to  thee,  for  thou  wert  near, 
And  saw  thee  withered,  bowed  and  old,     ^ 
And  woke  all  faint  with  sudden  fear. 
5  'T  was  thus  I  heard  the  dreamer  say, 

And  bade  her  clear  her  clouded  brow : 
"  For  thou  and  I,  since  childhood's  day. 
Have  walked  in  such  a  dream  till  now. 
"  Watch  we  in  calmness,  as  they  rise, 
10  The  changes  of  that  rapid  dream, 

And  note  its  lessons,  till  our  eyes 
Shall  open  in  the  morning  beam."  Bryant, 


EXERCISE    XXL 
Ortogrvl ;  or,  the  Va?iity  of  Riches. 

As  Ortogrul,  of  Basra,  was  one  day  wandering  along 
the  streets  of  Bagdat,  musing  on  the  varieties  of  merchan- 

15  dise  which  the  shops  opened  to  his  view,  and  observing 
the  different  occupations  which  busied  the  multitude  on 
every  side,  he  was  awakened  from  the  tranquillity  of  med- 
itation by  a  crowd  that  obstructed  his  passage.  He  raised 
his  eyes,  and  saw  the  chief  vizier,  who,  having  returned 

20  from  the  divan,  was  entering  his  palace. 

Ortogrul  mingled  with  the  attendants  ;  and  being  sup- 
posed to  have  some  petition  for  the  vizier,  was  permitted 
to  enter.  He  surveyed  the  spaciousness  of  the  apartments, 
admired  the  walls  hung  with  golden  tapestry,  and  the 

25  floors  covered  with  silken  carpets  ;  and  despised  the  simple 
neatness  of  his  own  little  habitation. 

"  Surely,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  this  palace  is  the  seat 
of  happiness ;  where  pleasure  succeeds  to  pleasure,  and 
discontent  and  sorrow  can  have  no  admission.     Whatever 

30  nature  has  provided  for  the  delight  of  sense  is  here  spread 
forth  to  be  enjoyed.  What  can  mortals  hope  or  imagine 
which  the  master  of  this  palace  has  not  obtained  ? 

"  The  dishes  of  luxury  cover  his  table ;  the  voice  of  har- 
mony lulls  him  in  his  bowers ;   he  breathes  the  fragrance 

35  of  the  groves  of  Java,  and  sleeps  upon  the  down  of  the 
cygnets  of  Ganges.  He  speaks,  and  his  mandate  is 
obeyed ;  he  wishes,  and  his  wish  is  gratified ;  all  whom 
he  sees  obey  him,  and  all  whom  he  hears  flatter  hiia. 


EX.  XXI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  215 

"  How  different,  oh  Ortogrul !  is  thy  condition,  who  art 
doomed  to  the  perpetual  torments  of  unsatisfied  desire  ; 
and  who  hast  no  amusement  in  thy  power  that  can  with- 
hold thee  from  thy  own  reflections  I  They  tell  thee  that 
5  thou  art  wise ;  but  what  does  wisdom  avail  with  poverty  ? 
None  will  flatter  the  poor ;  and  the  wise  have  very  little 
power  of  flattering  themselves. 

'•  That  man  is  surely  the  most  wretched  of  the  sons  of 
wretchedness  who  lives  with  his  own  faults  and  follies 
10  always  before  him,  and  who  has  none  to  reconcile  him  to 
himself  by  praise  and  veneration.  I  have  long  sought  con- 
tent, and  have  not  found  it;  I  will  from  this  moment 
endeavo'r  to  be  rich." 

Full  of  this  new  resolution,  he  shut  himself  in  his  cham- 

15  her  for  six  months,  to  deliberate  how  he  should  grow  rich. 

He  sometimes  purposed  to  offer  himself  as  a  counsellor  to 

one  of  the  kings  in  India,  and  sometimes  resolved  to  dig 

for  diamonds  in  the  mines  of  Golconda. 

One  day,  after  some  hours  passed  in  violent  fluctuation 
20  of  opinion,  sleep  insensibly  seized  him  in  his  chair.  He 
dreamed  that  he  was  ranging  a  desert  country,  in  search 
of  some  one  that  might  teach  him  to  grow  rich  ;  and  as  he 
stood  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  shaded  with  cypress,  in  doubt 
whither  to  direct  his  steps,  his  father  appeared  on  a  sudden 
25  standing  before  him. 

"  Ortogrul,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  know  thy  perplexity ; 
listen  to  thy  father.  Turn  thine  eye  on  the  opposite  moun- 
tain." Ortogrul  looked,  and  saw  a  torrent  tumbling  down 
the  rocks,  roaring  with  the  noise  of  thunder,  and  scattering 
30  its  foam  on  the  impending  woods.  "  Now,"  said  his  father, 
"  behold  the  valley  that  lies  between  the  hills."  Ortogrul 
looked,  and  espied  a  little  well,  out  of  which  issued  a  small 
rivulet.  "  Tell  me,  now,"  said  his  father,  "  dost  thou  wish 
for  sudden  affluence,  that  may  pour  upon  thee  like  the 
35  mountain  torrent ;  or  for  a  slow  and  gradual  increase,  re- 
sembling the  rill  gliding  from  the  well  ?  " 

"  Let  me  be  quickly  rich,"  said  Ortogrul ;  "  let  the  gold- 
en stream  be  quick  and  violent."  "  Look  around  thee," 
said  his  father,  "  once  again."  Ortogrul  looked,  and  per- 
40  ceived  the  channel  of  the  torrent  dry  and  dusty ;  but  fol- 
lowing the  rivulet  from  the  well,  he  traced  it  to  a  wide 
lake,  which  the  supply,  slow  and  constant,  kept  always 
full.  He  awoke,  and  determined  to  §row  rich  by  silent 
profit,  and  persevering  industry. 


216  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxu. 

Having-  sold  his  patrimony,  he  engaged  in  merchandise  ; 
and  in  twenty  years  purchased  lands,  on  which  he  raised 
a  house  equal  in  sumptuousness  to  that  of  the  vizier ;  to 
this  mansion  he  invited  all  the  ministers  of  pleasure,  ex- 
5  pecting  to  enjoy  all  the  felicity  which  he  had  imagined 
riches  able  to  afford.  Leisure  soon  made  him  weary  of 
himself,  and  he  longed  to  be  persuaded  that  he  was  great 
and  happy.  He  was  courteous  and  liberal ;  he  gave  all 
that  approached  him  hopes  of  pleasing  him,  and  all  who 

10  should  please  him  hopes  of  being  rewarded.  Every  art 
of  praise  was  tried,  and  every  source  of  adulatory  fiction 
was  exhausted. 

Ortogrul  heard,  his  flatterers  without  delight,  because  he 
found  himself  unable  to  believe  them.    His  own  heart  told 

15  him  its  frailties ;  his  own  understanding  reproached  him 
with  his  faults.  "  How  long,"  said  he,  with  a  deep  sigh, 
"  have  I  been  laboring  in  vain  to  amass  wealth,  which  at 
last  is  useless  !  Let  no  man  hereafter  wish  to  be  rich, 
who  is  already  too  wise  to  be  flattered."  —  Dr.  Johnson. 


EXERCISE    XXn. 
Summer  Heat. 

20        All-conquering  Heat,  oh,  intermit  thy  wrath ! 
And  on  my  throbbing  temples  potent  thus 
Beam  not  so  fierce  !  incessant  still  you  flow, 
And  still  another  fervent  flood  succeeds. 
Poured  on  the  head  profuse.     In  vain  I  sigh, 

25     And  restless  turn,  and  look  around  for  night ; 
Night  is  far  off;  and  hotter  hours  approach. 
Thrice  happy  he,  who,  on  the  sunless  side 
Of  a  romantic  mountain,  forest-crowned, 
Beneath  the  whole-collected  shade  reclines ; 

30     Or  in  the  gelid  caverns,  woodbine-wrought. 

And  fresh  bedewed  with  ever-spouting  streams. 
Sits  coolly  calm  ;  while  all  the  world  without, 
Unsatisfied,  and  sick,  tosses  in  noon. 
Emblem  instructive  of  the  virtuous  man, 

35     Who  keeps  his  tempered  mind  serene  and  pure, 
And  every  passion  aptly  harmonized. 
Amid  a  jarring  world  with  vice  inflamed. 

Welcome,  ye  shades !  ye  bowery  thickets,  hail ! 


EX.  XXIII. J  RHETORICAL    READING.  217 

Ye  lofty  pines  !  ye  venerable  oaks  ! 

Ye  ashes  wild,  resounding  o'er  the  steep! 

Delicious  is  your  shelter  to  the  soul, 

As  to  the  hunted  hart  the  sallying  spring, 

5       Or  stream  full  flowing,  that  his  swelling  sides 
Laves,  as  he  floats  along  the  herbaged  brink. 
Cool,  through  the  nerves,  your  pleasing  comfort  glides , 
The  heart  beats  glad ;  the  fresh-expanded  eye 
And  ear  resume  their  watch  ;  the  sinews  knit ; 

10     And  life  shoots  swift  through  all  the  lightened  limbs. 

Thomson. 


EXERCISE  XXIII. 

Oynniscience  and  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity ^  the  Source  of 
Consolation  to  Good  Men. 

I  WAS  yesterday,  about  sunset,  A\'alking  in  the  open 
fields,  till  the  night  insensibly  fell  upon  me.  I  at  first 
amused  myself  with  all  the  richness  and  variety  of  colors 
which  appeared  in  the  western  parts  of  heaven.     In  pro- 

15  portion  as  they  faded  away  and  went  out,  several  stars 
and  planets  appeared,  one  after  another,  till  the  whole 
firmament  was  in  a  glow. 

The  blueness  of  the  ether  was  exceedingly  heightened 
and  enlivened  by  the  season  of  the  year,  and  the  rays  of 

20  all  those  luminaries  that  passed  through  it.  The  galaxy 
appeared  in  its  most  beautiful  white.  To  complete  the 
scene,  the  full  moon  rose,  at  length,  in  that  clouded  majes- 
ty which  Milton  takes  notice  of;  and  opened  to  the  eye  a 
new  picture  of  nature,  which  was  more  finely  shaded,  and 

25  disposed  among  softer  lights,  than  that  which  the  sun  had 
before  discovered  to  me. 

As  I  was  surveying  the  moon  walking  in  her  brightness, 
and  taking  her  progress  among  the  constellations,  a  thought 
arose  in  me,  which  I  believe  very  often  perplexes  and  dis- 

30  turbs  men  of  serious  and  contemplative  natures.  David 
himself  fell  into  it  in  that  reflection:  "When  I  consider 
the  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers ;  the  moon  and  the 
stars  which  thou  hast  ordained  ;  what  is  man,  that  thou 
art  mindful  of  him,  and  the  son  of  man,  that  thou  regard- 

35  est  him  !  " 

In  the  same  manner,  when  I  considered  that  infinite  host 
of  stars,  or,  to  speak  more  philosophically,  of  suns,  which 
19 


218  tarker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxm. 

were  then  shining  upon  me ;  with  those  innumerable  sets 
of  planets  or  worlds,  which  were  moving  round  their  re- 
spective suns ;  when  I  still  enlarged  the  idea,  and  supposed 
•another  heaven  of  suns  and  worlds,  rising  still  above  this 

5  which  I  discovered ;  and  these  still  enlightened  by  a  supe- 
rior firmament  of  luminaries,  which  are  planted  at  so 
great  a  distance  that  they  may  appear  to  the  inhabitants 
of  the  former  as  the  stars  do  to  me  :  in  short,  while  I  pur- 
sued this  thought,  I  could  not  but  reflect  on  that  little  in- 

10  significant  figure  which  I  myself  bore  amidst  the  immen- 
sity of  God's  works. 

Were  the  sun  which  enlightens  this  part  of  the  crea- 
tion, with  all  the  host  of  planetary  worlds  that  move  about 
him,  utterly  extinguished  and  annihilated,  they  would  not 

15  be  missed,  more  than  a  grain  of  sand  upon  the  sea-shore. 
The  space  they  possess  is  so  exceeding  little  in  compari- 
son of  the  whole,  it  would  scarcely  make  a  blank  in  the 
creation.  The  chasm  would  be  imperceptible  to  an  eye 
that  could  take  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature,  and  pass 

20  from  one  end  of  the  creation  to  the  other ;  as  it  is  possible 
there  may  be  such  a  sense  in  ourselves  hereafter,  or  in 
creatures  which  are  at  present  more  exalted  than  our- 
selves. 

By  the  help  of  glasses,  we  see  many  stars  which  we  do 

25  not  discover  with  our  naked  eyes ;  and  the  finer  our  tele- 
scopes are,  the  greater  still  are  our  discoveries. 

Huygenius  carries  this  thought  so  far,  that  he  does  not 
think  it  impossible  there  may  be  stars,  whose  light  has  not 
yet  travelled  down  to  us  since  their  first  creation.     There 

30  is  no  question  that  the  universe  has  certain  bounds  set  to 
it ;  but  when  we  consider  that  it  is  the  work  of  Infinite 
Power,  prompted  by  Infinite  Goodness,  with  an  infinite 
space  to  exert  itself  in,  how  can  our  imagination  set  any 
bounds  to  it  ? 

35  To  return,  therefore,  to  my  first  thought — I  could  not 
but  look  upon  myself  with  secret  horror,  as  a  being  that 
was  not  worth  the  smallest  regard  of  one  who  had  so 
great  a  work  under  his  care  and  superintendency.  I  was 
afraid  of  being  overlooked  amidst  the  immensity  of  nature, 

40  and  lost  among  that  infinite  variety  of  creatures,  which, 
in  all  probability,  swarm  through  all  these  immeasurable 
regions  of  matter. 

In  order  to  recover  myself  from  this  mortifying  thought, 
I  considered  that  it  took  its  rise  from  those  narrow  con- 


EI.  XXin.J  KIIETORICAL    READING.  219 

ceptions  which  we  are  apt  to  entertain  of  the  Divine 
Nature.  We  ourselves  cannot  attend  to  many  different 
objects  at  the  same  time.  If  we  are  careful  to  inspect 
some  things,  we  must  of  course  neglect  others.     This  im- 

5  perfection  which  we  observe  in  ourselves  is  an  imperfec- 
tion that  cleaves,  in  some  degree,  to  creatures  of  the 
highest  capacities,  as  they  are  creatures ;  that  is,  beings 
of  finite  and  limited  natures. 

The  presence  of  every  created  being  is  confined  to  a 

10  certain  measure  of  space ;  and,  consequently,  his  observa- 
tion is  stinted  to  a  certain  number  of  objects.  The  sphere 
in  which  we  move;  and  act,  and  understand,  is  of  a  wider 
circumference  to  one  creature  than  another,  according  as 
we  rise  one  above  another  in  the  scale  of  existence.     But 

15  the  widest  of  these  our  spheres  has  its  circumference. 

When,  therefore,  we  reflect  on  the  Divine  Nature,  we 
are  so  used  and  accustomed  to  this  imperfection  in  our- 
selves, that  we  cannot  forbear,  in  some  measure,  ascribing 
it  to  Him  in  whom  there  is  no  shadow  of  imperfection. 

20  Our  reason,  indeed,  assures  us  that  his  attributes  are  infi- 
nite ;  but  the  poorness  of  our  conceptions  is  such,  that  it 
cannot  forbear  setting  bounds  to  everything  it  contem- 
plates, till  our  reason  comes  again  to  our  succor,  and 
throws  down  all  those  little  prejudices  which  rise  in   us 

25  unawares,  and  are  natural  to  the  mind  of  man. 

We  shall  therefore  utterly  extinguish  this  melancholy 
thought,  of  our  being  overlooked  by  our  Maker,  in  the 
multiplicity  of  his  works,  and  the  infinity  of  those  objects 
among  which  he  seems  to  be  incessantly  employed,  if  we 

30  consider,  in  the  first  place,  that  he  is  omnipresent ;  and, 
in  the  second,  that  he  is  omniscient. 

If  we  consider  him  in  his  omnipresence,  his  being  passes 
through,  actuates,  and  supports,  the  whole  frame  of  nature. 
His  creation,  in  every  part  of  it,  is  full  of  him.     There  is 

35  nothing  he  has  made,  which  is  either  so  distant,  so  little, 
or  so  inconsiderable,  that  he  does  not  essentially  reside  in 
it.  His  substance  is  within  the  substance  of  every  being, 
whether  material  or  immaterial,  and  as  intimately  present 
to  it  as  that  being  is  to  itself. 

40  It  would  be  an  imperfection  in  him,  were  he  able  to 
move  out  of  one  place  into  another ;  or  to  withdraw  him- 
self from  anything  he  has  created,  or  from  any  part  of 
that  space  which  he  difliised  and  spread  abroad  to  infinity. 
In  short,  to  speak  of  him  in  the  language  of  the  old  phi- 


220  Parker's  exexcises  in  [ex.  xxiv. 

losophers,  he  is  a  Being  whose  centre  is  everywhere,  and 
his  circumference  nowhere. 

In  the  second  place,  he  is  omniscient  as  well  as  omni- 
present.    His  omniscience,  indeed,  necessarily  and  natu- 

5  rally  flows  from  his  omnipresence.  He  cannot  but  be 
conscious  of  every  motion  that  arises  in  the  whole  mate- 
rial world,  which  he  thus  essentially  pervades;  and  of 
every  thought  that  is  stirring  in  the  intellectual  world,  to 
every  part  of  which  he  is  thus  intimately  united. 

10  Were  the  soul  separated  from  the  body,  and  should  it 
with  one  glance  of  thought  start  beyond  the  bounds  of  the 
creation,  —  should  it  for  millions  of  years  continue  its  pro- 
gress through  infinite  space,  with  the  same  activity,  —  it 
would  still  find  itself  within  the  embrace  of  its  Creator, 

15  and  encompassed  by  the  immensity  of  the  Godhead. 

In  this  consideration  of  the  Almighty's  omnipresence 
and  omniscience,  every  uncomfortable  thought  vanishes. 
He  cannot  but  regard  everything  that  has  being,  especial- 
ly such  of  his  creatures  who  fear  they  are  not  regarded  by 

20  him.  He  is  privy  to  all  their  thoughts,  and  to  that  anxie- 
ty of  heart  in  particular,  which  is  apt  to  trouble  them  on 
this  occasion ;  for,  as  it  is  impossible  he  should  overlook 
any  of  his  creatures,  so  we  may  be  confident  that  he  re- 
gards with  an  eye  of  mercy  those  who  endeavor  to  r,ecom- 

25  mend  themselves  to  his  notice,  and,  in  an  unfeigned  hu- 
mility of  heart,  think  themselves  unworthy  that  he  should 
be  mindful  of  them.  —  Addison. 


EXERCISE  XXIV. 

Summer  Bathing. 

Cheered  by  the  milder  beam,  the  sprightly  youth 
Speeds  to  the  well-known  pool,  whose  crystal  depth 

30     A  sandy  bottom  shows.     A  while  he  stands 
Gazing  the  inverted  landscape,  half  afraid 
To  meditate  the  blue  profound  below ; 
Then  plunges  headlong  down  the  circling  flood. 
His  ebon  tresses  and  his  rosy  cheek 

85     Instant  emerge ;  and,  through  the  obedient  wave, 
At  each  short  breathing  by  his  lip  repelled. 
With  arms  and  legs  according  well,  he  makes, 
As  humor  leads,  an  easy-winding  path  • 


EX.  XXV.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  221 

While,  from  his  polished  sides,  a  dewy  light 

Effuses  on  the  pleased  spectators  round. 
This  is  the  purest  exercise  of  health, 

The  kind  refresher  of  the  summer  heats ; 
5       Nor  when  cold  Winter  keens  the  brightening  flood, 

Would  I  weak-shivering  linger  on  the  brink. 

Thus  life  redoubles,  and  is  oft  preserved, 

By  the  bold  swimmer,  in  the  swift  elapse 

Of  accident  disastrous. 
10  Hence  the  limbs 

Knit  into  force ;  and  the  same  Roman  arm, 

That  rose  victorious  o'er  the  conquered  earth, 

First  learned,  while  tender,  to  subdue  the  wave. 

Even  from  the  body's  purity  the  mind 
15    Receives  a  secret,  sympathetic  aid.       Thomson. 


EXERCISE  XXV. 

Scene  after  a  Thunder  Shower. 

As  from  the  face  of  heaven  the  shattered  clouds 
Tumultuous  rove,  the  interminable  sky 
Sublimer  swells,  and  o'er  the  world  expands 
A  purer  azure.     Through  the  lightened  air 

20     A  higher  lustre  and  a  clearer  calm, 

Diflusive,  tremble ;  while,  as  if  in  sign 
Of  danger  past,  a  glittering  robe  of  joy, 
Set  off  abundant  by  the  yellow  ray, 
Invests  the  fields ;  and  nature  smiles  revived. 

25         'T  is  beauty  all,  and  grateful  song  around, 
Joined  to  the  low  of  kine,  and  numerous  bleat 
Of  flocks  thick-nibbling  through  the  clovered  vale. 
And  shall  the  hymn  be  marred  by  thankless  Man. 
Most  favored!  who  with  voice  articulate 

30     Should  lead  the  chorus  of  this  lower  world ; 
Shall  he,  so  soon  forgetful  of  the  Hand 
That  hushed  the  thunder,  and  serenes  the  sky, 
Extinguished  feel  that  spark  the  tempest  waked. 
That  sense  of  powers  exceeding  far  his  own, 

35     Ere  yet  his  feeble  heart  has  lost  its  fears  ?       Thomson, 
19* 


222  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xivi, 

EXERCISE  XXVI. 

Domestic  Employment. 

Since  Industry  is  the  aliment  of  contentment  and  hap- 
piness, the  female  sex  are  privileged  in  the  variety  of 
employments  that  solicit  their  attention.  These  are  so 
diversified  in  their  combinations  of  amusement  with  utili- 

5  ty,  that  no  room  need  be  left  for  the  melancholy  of  a  vacant 
and  listless  mind. 

Needle-vi^ork,  in  all  its  forms  of  use,  elegance  and  orna- 
ment, has  ever  been  the  appropriate  occupation  of  woman. 
From  the  shades  of  Eden,  when  its  humble  process  was 

10  but  to  unite  the  fig-leaf,  to  the  days  when  the  mother  of 
Sisera  looked  from  her  window,  in  expectation  of  a  "  prey 
of  divers  colors  of  needle-work  on  both  sides,  meet  for  the 
necks  of  those  that  take  the  spoil,"  down  to  modern  times, 
when  nature's  pencil  is  rivalled  by  the  most  exquisite  tis- 

15  sues  of  embroidery,  it  has  been  both  their  duty  and  their 
resource.  While  the  more  delicate  efforts  of  the  needle 
rank  high  among  accomplishments,  its  necessary  depart- 
ments are  not  beneath  the  notice  of  the  most  refined 
young  lady. 

20  To  keep  her  own  wardrobe  perfectly  in  order,  to  pay 
just  regard  to  economy,  and  to  add  to  the  comfort  of  the 
poor,  it  will  be  necessary  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  those 
inventions  by  which  the  various  articles  of  apparel  are  re- 
paired, modified  and  renovated.     True  satisfaction,  and 

25  cheerfulness  of  spirits,  are  connected  with  these  quiet  and 
congenial  pursuits. 

This  has  been  simply  and  fortunately  expressed  by  one 
of  our  sweetest  poets :  — 

•*  It  rains.  —  What  lady  loves  a  rainy  day? 
She  loves  a  rainy  day,  who  sweeps  the  hearth, 
And  threads  the  busy  needle,  or  applies 
The  scissors  to  the  torn  or  thread- bare  «leeve  ; 
Who  blesses  God  that  she  has  friends  and  home  ; 
Who,  in  the  pelting  of  the  storm,  will  think 
Of  some  poor  neighbor  that  she  can  befriend  ; 
Who  trims  the  lamp  at  night,  and  reads  aloud, 
To  a  young  brother,  tales  he  loves  to  hear  ; 
Such  are  not  sad  even  on  a  rainy  day." 

The  queen  of  Louis  XL  of  France  was  a  pattern  of 
40  industry  to  her  sex.     Surrounding  herself  with  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  nobility,  whom  she  called  her  daughters,  she 
was  both  their  teacher  and  companion,  in  elegant  works 


EX.  XXVn.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  223 

of  embroidery  and  tapestry.  The  churches  were  adorned 
with  these  proofs  of  their  diligence  and  ingenuity.  She 
considered  industry  a  remedy  for  a  disordered  imagina- 
tion, and  a  shield  against  the  temptations  of  a  fashionable 
5  life. 

Hence  prudence  and  modesty  marked  the  manners  of 
that  court,  where  their  opposites  had  once  prevailed,  and 
the  blooming  and  elegant  train  by  whom  she  was  attended 
"  bore   in  their   hearts  the  honor  and  virtue  which  she 

10  planted  there." 

It  has  been  sometimes  urged  as  an  objection  against  the 
modern  system  of  female  education,  that  the  wide  range 
of  science  which  it  comprises  turns  the  attention  of  the 
young  from  household  duty,  and  renders  them  impatient 

15  of  its  details  and  labors.  This  argument  seems  to  address 
itself  to  mothers.  It  might  be  in  their  power  to  refute  it, 
and  to  associate  in  the  minds  of  their  daughters,  with  a  love 
of  study,  a  knowledge  of  the  unpretending  pursuits  of 
their  own  future  province. 

20  Maternal  affection  would  naturally  prompt  the  wish  to 
save  them  from  the  mistakes  and  perplexities  to  which 
ignorance  might  in  future  expose  them.  Though  perhaps 
little  native  affinity  exists  between  intellectual  pursuits 
and  household  cares,  they  may  doubtless  be  so  united  as 

25  to  relieve  each  other;  and  she  will  give  strong  proof  of  the 
best  education  and  the  best  regulated  mind,  who  neglects 
the  fewest  duties,  and  despises  none. 

Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney. 


EXERCISE  XXVII. 
Dialogue  from  the  Tragedy  of  King  John. 

[King  John  instigates  Hubert  to  assassinate  Artliur  Plantagenet,  nephew  of  King  John 
and  rightful  heir  of  the  crown  of  England,  usurped  by  John.] 

K.  John.     Come  hither,  Hubert. 

O,  my  gentle  Hubert, 


30  We  owe  thee  much ;  within  this  wall  of  flesh 
There  is  a  soul  counts  thee  her  creditor. 
And  with  advantage  means  to  pay  thy  love  : 
And,  my  good  friend,  thy  voluntary  oath 
Lives  in  this  bosom,  dearly  cherished. 

35  Give  me  thy  hand. I  had  a  thing  to  say  — 

But  I  will  fit  it  with  some  better  time. 


224  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxvn. 

By  heaven,  Hubert,  I  am  almost  ashamed 
To  say  what  good  respect  1  have  of  thee. 

Hubert.     I  am  much  bounden  to  your  majesty. 
K.  John.     Good  friend,  thou  hast  no  cause  to  say  so  yet : 
5  But  thou  shalt  have ;  and  creep  time  ne'er  so  slow, 

Yet  it  shall  come,  for  me  to  do  thee  good. 

I  had  a  thing  to  say ; but,  let  it  go : 

The  sun  is  in  the  heaven;  and  the  proud  day, 
Attended  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 

10  Is  all  too  wanton,  and  too  full  of  gawds. 

To  give  me  audience  : If  the  midnight  bell 

Did,  with  his  iron  tongue  and  brazen  mouth, 

Sound  on  unto  the  drowsy  race  of  night :  • 

If  this  same  were  a  church-yard  where  we  stand, 

15  And  thou  possessed  with  a  thousand  wrongs; 

Or,  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy. 
Had  baked  thy  blood,  and  made  it  heavy,  thick; 
Which  else  runs  tickling  up  and  down  the  veins, 
Making  that  idiot,  laughter,  keep  men's  eyes, 

20  And  strain  their  cheeks  to  idle  merriment, 

(A  passion  hateful  to  my  purposes,) 

Or  if  that  thou  couldst  see  me  without  eyes, 
Hear  me  without  thine  ears,  and  make  reply 
Without  a  tongue,  using  conceit  alone, 

25  Without  eyes,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  of  words ; 
Then,  in  despite  of  broad-eyed  watchful  day, 
I  would  into  thy  bosom  pour  my  thoughts 


But  ah,  I  will  not :  — yet  I  love  thee  well; 


And,  by  my  troth,  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  well. 
30       Hub.     So  well,  that  what  you  bid  me  undertake, 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct  to  my  act. 
By  heaven,  I  would  do  it. 

K.  John.     Do  not  I  know  thou  wouldst  ? 

Good  Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw  thine 

85  eye 

On  yon  young  boy  :  I  '11  tell  thee  what,  my  friend, 

He  is  a  very  serpent  in  my  way ; 

And  wheresoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  doth  tread. 

He  lies  before  me  : Dost  thou  understand  me  ? 

40  Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Hub.  And  I  '11  keep  him  so, 

That  he  shall  not  offend  your  majesty. 

K.  John.     Death ! 

Hub.     My  lord  ? 


BX.  XXVIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  225 

K.  John.     A  grave ! 
H7ib.     He  shall  not  live. 
K.  John.     Enough. 

I  could  be  merry,  now : Hubert,  I  love  thee 

5  Well.     1  '11  not  say  what  I  intend  for  thee  : 

Remember ! Shakspeare. 


EXERCISE  XXVin. 
Scene  from  the  Tragedy  of  King  John. 

[Inlerview  of  Hubert  with  Arthur,  in  which  Hubert  purposes  to  fulfil  the  mtirderoua 
commission  described  in  the  preceding  exercise,  on  which  he  was  sent  by  King  John.] 

Hubert.     Heat  me  these  irons  hot ;  and  look  thou  stand 
Within  the  arras :  when  I  strike  my  foot 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  rush  forth, 
15  And  bind  the  boy,  which  you  shall  find  with  me, 
Fast  to  the  chair  :  be  heedful :  hence,  and  watch. 

1  Attendant.     I  hope  your  warrant  will  bear  out  the 

deed. 
Hub.     Uncleanly  scruples !    Fear  not  you  :  look  to 't. 

[Exeunt  Attenda?its. 
20  Young  lad,  come  forth  ;  I  have  to  say  with  you. 
Enter  Arthur. 
Arthur.     Good  morrow,  Hubert. 
Hub.  Good  morrow,  little  prince. 

Arth.     As  little  prince  (having  so  great  a  title 
25  To  be  more  prince)  as  may  be.  —  You  are  sad. 
Hub.     Indeed,  I  have  been  merrier. 
Arth.  Mercy  on  me  ! 

Methinks  nobody  should  be  sad  but  I : 
Yet  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  France, 
30   Young  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 
Only  for  wantonness.     By  my  Christendom, 
So  i  were  out  of  prison,  and  kept  sheep, 
I  should  be  merry  as  the  day  is  long ; 
And  so  I  would  be  here,  but  that  I  doubt 
35  My  uncle  practises  more  harm  to  me : 
He  is  afraid  of  me,  and  I  of  him ; 
Is  it  my  fault  that  I  were  Geoffrey's  son  ? 
No,  indeed,  is  't  not ;  and  I  would  to  heaven 
I  were  your  son,  so  you  would  love  me,  Hubert. 
40       Hub.     If  I  talk  to  him,  with  his  innocent  prate 


226  Parker's  exercises  in  [EX.xxvm. 

He  will  awake  my  mercy,  which  lies  dead : 

Therefore  I  will  be  sudden,  and  despatch.  [Aside. 

Arth.     Are  you  sick,  Hubert  ?     You  look  pale  to-day. 
In  sooth,  I  would  you  were  a  little  sick ; 
5  That  I  might  sit  all  night,  and  watch  with  you. 
I  warrant,  I  love  you  more  than  you  do  me. 

Hub.     His  words  do  take  possession  of  my  bosom.  — 
Read  here,  young  Arthur.      [Showing  a  paper. ^     How 
now,  foolish  rheum  !  [Aside. 

10  Turning  dispiteous  torture  out  the  door ! 
I  must  be  brief,  lest  resolution  drop 
Out  at  mine  eyes,  in  tender  womanish  tears. 
Can  you  not  read  it  ?     Is  it  not  fair  writ  ? 
Arth.     Too  fairly,  Hubert,  for  so  foul  effect : 
15  Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes  ^ 
Hub.     Young  boy,  I  must. 
Arth.  And  will  you  ? 

Hub.  And  I  will. 

Arth.     Have  you  the  heart  ?     When  your  head  did  but 
20  I  knit  my  handkerchief  about  your  brows,  [ache 

(The  best  I  had  —  a  princess  wrought  it  me,) 
And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  again  : 
And  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  head ; 
And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour, 
25  Still  and  anon  cheered  up  the  heavy  time  ; 

Saying,  What  lack  you  ?  and.  Where  lies  your  grief? 
Or,  What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  you  ? 
Many  a  poor  man's  son  would  have  lain  still, 
And  ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you ; 
30  But  you  at  your  sick  service  had  a  prince. 
Nay,  you  may  think  my  love  was  crafty  love, 
And  call  it  cunning :  do,  an  if  you  will : 
If  heaven  be  pleased  that  you  should  use  me  ill. 
Why,  then  you  must.  — Will  you  put  out  mine  eyes? 
35  These  eyes  that  never  did,  nor  never  shall, 
So  much  as  frown  on  you  ? 

Hub.  I  have  sworn  to  do  it ; 

And  with  hot  irons  must  I  burn  them  out. 

Ai'th.     Ah,  none  but  in  this  iron  age  would  do  it : 
40  The  iron,  of  itself,  though  heat  red-hot. 

Approaching  near  these  eyes,  would  drink  my  tears, 
And  quench  its  fiery  indignation. 
Even  in  the  matter  of  mine  innocence  : 
Nay,  after  that,  consume  away  in  rust. 


EX.  3nrvin.]  rhetobical  reading.  227 

But  for  containing  fire  to  harm  mine  eyes. 
Are  you  more  stubborn-hard  than  hammered  iron  ? 
And  if  an  angel  should  have  come  to  me, 
And  told  me  Hubert  should  put  out  mine  eyes, 
5  1  would  not  have  believed  no  tongue  but  Hubert's. 

Hub.     Come  forth.  [Stamps. 

Reenter  Attendants^  with  cord^  ironSy  ^c. 
Do  as  I  bid  you  do. 

Arth.     O,  save  me,  Hubert,  save  me !     My  eyes  are  out, 
10  Even  with  the  fierce  looks  of  the  bloody  men. 

Hub.     Give  me  the  iron,  I  say,  and  bind  him  here. 
Arth.     Alas !  what  need  you  be  so  boisterous-rough  ? 
I  will  not  struggle,  I  will  stand  stone-still. 
For  heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound ! 
15  Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert !  drive  these  men  away, 
And  1  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb ; 
I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word, 
Nor  look  upon  the  irons  angerly ; 
Thrust  but  these  men  away,  and  I  '11  forgive  you, 
20  Whatever  torments  you  do  put  me  to. 

Hv^.     Go,  stand  within ;  let  me  alone  with  him. 
1  Atten.     I  am  best  pleased  to  be  from  such  a  deed. 

[Exeunt  AttendaTits 
Arth.     Alas,  I  then  have  chid  away  my  friend : 
25  He  hath  a  stern  look,  but  a  gentle  heart :  — 
Let  him  come  back,  that  his  compassion  may 
Give  life  to  yours. 

HvJ>.  Come,  boy,  prepare  yourself. 

Arth.     Is  there  no  remedy  ? 
30       Hub.     None,  but  to  lose  your  eyes. 

Arth.     O  heaven !  that  there  were  but  a  mote  in  yours. 
A  grain,  a  dust,  a  gnat,  a  wandering  hair, 
Any  annoyance  in  that  precious  sense  ! 
Then  feeling  what  small  things  are  boisterous  there, 
35  Your  vile  intent  must  needs  seem  horrible. 

Hub.     Is  this  your  promise  ?    Go  to ;  hold  your  tongue. 
Arth.     Hubert,  the  utterance  of  a  brace  of  tongues 
Must  needs  want  pleading  for  a  pair  of  eyes  : 
Let  me  not  hold  my  tongue ;  let  me  not,  Hubert ' 
40  Or,  Hubert,  if  you  will,  cut  out  my  tongue. 
So  I  may  keep  mine  eyes  ;  O,  spare  mine  eyes  : 
Though  to  no  use,  but  still  to  look  on  you ! 
Lo,  by  my  troth,  the  instrument  is  cold. 
And  would  not  harm  me. 


228  Parker's  exercises  tn  [ex.  xxn. 

Hub»  I  can  heat  it,  boy. 

Arth.     No,  in  good  sooth,  the  fire  is  dead  with  grief, — 
Being  create  for  comfort  —  to  be  used 
In  undeserved  extremes  :  see  else  yourself: 
5  There  is  no  malice  in  this  burning  coal ; 

The  breath  of  heaven  hath  blown  its  spirit  out, 
And  strewed  repentant  ashes  on  his  head. 

Hub.     But  with  my  breath  I  can  revive  it,  boy. 

Arth.     And  if  you  do,  you  will  but  make  it  blush, 
10  And  glow  with  shame  of  your  proceedings,  Hubert ; 
Nay,  it  perchance  will  sparkle  in  your  eyes, 
And  like  a  dog  that  is  compelled  to  fight, 
Snatch  at  his  master  that  does  tarre  him  on.^ 
All  things  that  you  should  use  to  do  me  wrong 
15  Deny  their  office ;  only  you  do  lack 

That  mercy  which  fierce  fire  and  iron  extends,  — 
Creatures  of  note,  for  mercy-lacking  uses. 

Hub.     Well,  see  to  live ;  I  will  not  touch  thine  eyes, 
For  all  the  treasure  that  thine  uncle  owes;t 
20  Yet  I  am  sworn,  and  I  did  purpose,  boy, 
With  this  same  very  iron  to  burn  them  out. 

Arth.     0,  now  you  look  like  Hubert !  all  this  while 
You  were  disguised. 

Hub.  Peace  :  no  more  :  adieu !  — 

25  Your  uncle  must  not  know  but  you  are  dead : 
1  '11  fill  these  dogged  spies  with  false  reports. 
And,  pretty  child,  sleep  doubtless,  and  secure 
That  Hubert,  for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world. 
Will  not  offend  thee. 
30       Arth.     0  heaven  !  —  I  thank  you,  Hubert. 

Hub.     Silence  :  no  more.     Go  closely  in  with  me : 
Much  danger  do  I  undergo  for  thee.  \Exewnt. 


EXERCISE  XXIX. 

Dialogue  from  King  John,  after  the  supposed  assassination  of 
Prince  Arthur. 

Hubert.     My  lord,  they  say  five  moons  were  seen  to- 
night : 
35  Four  fixed ;  and  the  fifth  did  whirl  about 
The  other  four,  in  wondrous  motion. 

*  Set  him  on.  t  Owns. 


EX.  XXIX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  229 

K.  John.     Five  moons  ? 

Hub.     Old  men,  and  beldams,  in  the  streets 

Do  prophesy  upon  it  dangerously : 

Young  Arthur's  death  is  common  in  their  mouths: 
5     And  when  they  talk  of  him,  they  shake  their  heads, 

And  whisper  one  another  in  the  ear ; 

And  he  that  speaks  doth  gripe  the  hearer's  wrist  j 

Whilst  he  that  hears  makes  fearful  action, 

With  wrinkled  brows,  with  nods,  with  rolling  eyes. 
10  I  saw  a  smith  stand  with  his  hammer,  thus, 

The  whilst  his  iron  did  on  the  anvil  cool. 

With  open  mouth  swallowing  a  tailor's  news  ; 

Who,  with  his  shears  and  measure  in  his  hand, 

Standing  on  slippers,  (which  his  nimble  haste 
15  Had  falsely  thrust  upon  contrary  feet,) 

Told  of  many  thousand  warlike  French, 

That  were  embatteled  and  ranked  in  Kent : 

Another  lean,  unwashed  artificer 

Cuts  off  his  tale,  and  talks  of  Arthur's  death. 
20       K.  John.     Why  seek'st  thou  to  possess  me  with  these 
fears  ? 

Why  urgest  thou  so  oft  young  Arthur's  death  ? 

Thy  hand  hath  murdered  him :  I  had  a  mighty  cause 

To  wish  him  dead,  but  thou  hadst  none  to  kill  him. 
25       Hub.     Had  none,  my  lord !     Why,  did  not  you  pro- 
voke me  ? 
K.  John.     It  is  the  curse  of  kings  to  be  attended 

By  slaves,  that  take  their  humors  for  a  warrant 

To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life  : 
30  And,  on  the  winking  of  authority, 

To  understand  a  law ;  to  know  the  meaning 

Of  dangerous  majesty,  when,  perchance,  it  frowns 

More  upon  humor  than  advised  respect. 

Hub.     Here  is  your  hand  and  seal  for  what  I  did. 
35       K.  John.     Oh,  when  the  last  account  'twixt  heaven  and 
earth 

Is  to  be  made,  then  shall  this  hand  and  seal 

Witness  against  us  to  damnation ! 

How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds 
40  Makes  deeds  ill  done  !     Hadst  not  thou  been  by, 

A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  marked. 

Quoted,  and  signed,  to  do  a  deed  of  shame, 

This  murder  had  not  come  into  my  mind : 

But,  taking  note  of  thy  abhorred  aspect, 
20 


230  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxix. 

Finding  thee  fit  for  bloody  villany, 

Apt,  liable  to  be  employed  in  danger, 

I  faintly  broke  with  thee  of  Arthur's  death : 

And  thou,  to  be  endeared  to  a  king, 
5     Made  it  no  conscience  to  destroy  a  prince. 

Hub.     My  lord 

K,  John.     Hadst  thou  but  shook  thy  head,  or  made  a 

When  I  spake  darkly  what  I  purposed ;  [pause, 

Or  turned  an  eye  of  doubt  upon  my  face, 
10  As  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  words ; 

Deep  shame  had  struck  me  dumb,  made  me  break  off, 

And  those  thy  fears  might  have  wrought  fears  in  me : 

But  thou  didst  understand  me  by  my  signs. 

And  didst  in  signs  again  parley  with  sin ; 
15  Yea,  without  stop,  didst  let  thy  heart  consent, 

And,  consequently,  thy  rude  hand  to  act 

The  deed,  which  both  our  tongues  held  vile  to  name. 

Out  of  my  sight,  and  never  see  me  more ! 

My  nobles  leave  me ;  and  my  state  is  braved, 
20  Even  at  my  gates,  with  ranks  of  foreign  powers : 

Nay,  in  the  body  of  this  fleshly  land, 

This  kingdom,  this  confine  of  blood  and  breath, 

Hostility  and  civil  tumult  reigns 

Between  my  conscience  and  my  cousin's  death. 
25       Hub.     Arm  you  against  your  other  enemies ; 

1  '11  make  a  peace  between  your  soul  and  you. 

Young  Arthur  is  alive.     This  hand  of  mine 

Is  yet  a  maiden  and  an  innocent  hand. 

Not  painted  with  the  crimson  spots  of  blood. 
30  Within  this  bosom  never  entered  yet 

The  dreadful  motion  of  a  murderous  thought, 

And  you  have  slandered  nature  in  my  form ; 

Which,  howsoever  rude  exteriorly, 

Is  yet  the  cover  of  a  fairer  mind 
35  Than  to  be  butcher  of  an  innocent  child. 

K.  John.     Doth  Arthur  live  ?    O,  haste  thee  to  the  peers. 

Throw  this  report  on  their  incensed  rage, 

And  make  them  tame  to  their  obedience  ! 

Forgive  the  comment  that  my  passion  made 
40  Upon  thy  features ;  for  my  rage  was  blind, 

-And  foul  imaginary  eyes  of  blood 

Presented  thee  more  hideous  than  thou  art. 

O,  answer  not ;  but  to  my  closet  bring 

The  angry  lords,  with  all  expedient  haste : 
45  I  conjure  thee  but  slowly ;  run  more  fast.     Shakspeare, 


EX.  XXX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  231 

EXERCISE  XXX. 

Character  of  Addison  as  a  Writer. 

As  a  describer  of  life  and  manners,  Mr.  Addison  must 
be  allowed  to  stand  perhaps  the  first  in  the  first  rank. 
His  humor  is  peculiar  to  himself;  and  is  so  happily  dif- 
fused, as  to  give  the  grace  of  novelty  to  domestic  scenes 

5  and  daily  occurrences.  He  never  oversteps  the  modesty 
of  nature,  nor  raises  merriment  or  wonder  by  the  violation 
of  truth.  His  figures  neither  divert  by  distortion,  nor 
amaze  by  aggravation.  He  copies  life  with  so  much  fidel- 
ity, that  he  can  hardly  be  said  to  invent ;  yet  his  exhi- 

10  bitions  have  an  air  so  much  original,  that  it  is  difficult  to 
suppose  them  not  merely  the  product  of  imagination. 

As  a  teacher  of  wisdom,  he  may  be  confidently  followed. 
His  religion  has  nothing  in  it  enthusiastic  or  superstitious  ; 
he  appears  neither  weakly  credulous  nor  wantonly  scepti- 

15  cal ;  his  morality  is  neither  dangerously  lax  nor  implaca- 
bly rigid.  All  the  enchantments  of  fancy,  and  all  the 
cogency  of  argument,  are  employed  to  recommend  to  the 
reader  his  real  interest,  the  care  of  pleasing  the  Author 
of  his  being.     Truth  is  shown  sometimes  as  the  phantom 

20  of  a  vision,  sometimes  appears  half-veiled  in  an  allegory, 
sometimes  attracts  regard  in  robes  of  fancy,  and  some- 
times steps  forth  in  the  confidence  of  reason.  She  wears 
a  thousand  dresses,  and  in  all  is  pleasing. 

His  prose  is  the  model  of  the  middle  style ;  on  grave 

25  subjects  not  formal,  on  light  occasions  not  grovelling; 
pure  without  scrupulosity,  and  exact  without  apparent 
elaboration;  always  equable,  and  always  easy,  without 
glowing  words  or  pointed  sentences.  His  page  is  always 
luminous,  but  never  blazes  in  unexpected  splendor. 

30  It  seems  to  have  been  his  principal  endeavor  to  avoid 
all  harshness  and  severity  of  diction  ;  he  is  therefore  some- 
times verbose  in  his  transitions  and  connexions,  and  some- 
times descends  too  much  to  the  language  of  conversation ; 
yet  if  his  language  had  been   less  idiomatical,  it  might 

35  have  lost  somewhat  of  its  genuine  Anglicism. 

What  he  attempted  he  performed :  he  is  never  feeble, 
and  he  did  not  wish  to  be  energetic ;  he  is  never  rapid, 
and  he  never  stagnates.  His  sentences  have  neither 
studied  amplitude  nor  affected  brevity ;  his  periods,  though 

40  not  diligently  rounded,  are  voluble  and  easy.  Whoever 
wishes  to  attain  an  English  style,  familiar  but  not  coarse, 


232  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxi. 

and  elegant  but  not  ostentatious,  must  give  his  days  and 
nights  to  the  volumes  of  Addison.  —  Dr.  Johnson. 


EXERCISE  XXXI. 
Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church-yard. 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day ; 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea ; 
5       The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 

And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds ; 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
10     And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds. 
Save  that,  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 

The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 

Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 
15         Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap. 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 
The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 
20     The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 

No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 
For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 

Nor  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care  ; 
25     No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 

Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 
Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield ; 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield  ! 

30     How  bowed  the  v^roods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke  ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil. 

Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile. 

The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 
35         The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth,  e'er  gave. 

Await,  alike,  the  inevitable  hour;  — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 


EX.  XXXI.]  RHETORICAL    READING. 


233 


Not  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise. 
Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault, 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 
5  Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust, 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 

Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 

Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death  ? 

Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 
10     Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 

Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre  : 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
15     Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem,  of  purest  ray  serene. 
The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
20     And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood ; 
Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 
25         The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 
30     Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined; — 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne. 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  Truth  to  hide. 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  Shame ; 
35     Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife. 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray : 
Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life 
40     They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  even  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect. 
Some  frail  memorial,  still  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 
20* 


234  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxi. 

Their  names,  their  years,  spelled  by  the  unlettered  Muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 
5  For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 

This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned  ;  — 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day,  — 

Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 
On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies; 
10     Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires : 

Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries ; 

Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonored  dead, 

Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate, 
15     If,  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate, 
Haply,  some  hoary -headed  swain  may  say, 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him,  at  the  peep  of  dawn. 

Brushing,  with  hasty  steps,  the  dews  away, 
20     To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

"  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 

That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high. 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 

And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 
25         "  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling,  as  in  scorn. 

Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove ; 

Now  drooping,  woful  wan,  like  one  forlorn, 

Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  with  hopeless  love. 
"  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  accustomed  hill, 
30     Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree ; 

Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 

Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood,  was  he : 
"  The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array. 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne. 
35    Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay. 

Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

EPITAPH. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth, 
A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown : 
Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
40     And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  owti. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send :  — 


BY.  XXXII.]  RHETORIC  At   REAPING.  235 

He  gave  to  misery  all  he  had,  —  a  tear ; 

He  gained  from  Heaven  —  'twas  all  he  wished — a  friend. 

No  further  seek  his  merit  to  disclose, 
Nor  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, — 
5     (There  they,  alike,  in  trembling  hope,  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  father  and  his  God.  Gray. 


EXERCISE  XXXn. 

Filial  Reverence. 

The  present  state  of  manners,  though  not  the  best  pos- 
sible, has  one  advantage  over  that  which  preceded  it :  —  it 
is  more  favorable  to  a  confidential  intercourse  between  chil- 

10  dren  and  parents  than  was  the  starched  demeanor  of  our 
forefathers ;  but  there  might  be  a  much  greater  infusion 
of  respect,  without  any  diminution  of  confidence. 

Filial  love,  indeed,  can  never  exist  in  perfection,  unless 
it  be  founded  on  a  deep  sentiment  of  reverence ;  and  where 

15  that  has  not  been  well  cultivated  in  childhood,  it  is  soon 
frittered  entirely  away,  by  habitual  indulgence  in  disre- 
■    spect,  flippancy,  or  rude  familiarity. 

The  sentiment  of  reverence  is  one  of  the  noblest  attri- 
butes of  the  human  mind  :  to  its  exercise  God  has  affixed 

20  an  exquisite  sense  of  enjoyment ;  it  operates,  in  a  thou- 
sand ways,  to  elevate  and  embellish  the  character.  Its 
first  development  is  in  the  feelings  of  a  child  for  its  pa- 
rents ;  and  this  is  the  natural  preparation  of  the  mind  for 
its  rise  to  a  higher  object,  even  to  the  Father  in  heaven. 

25  As  the  understanding  ripens,  and  this  sentiment  is  cul- 
tivated, it  embraces  all  that  is  great  and  good  among  men, 
all  that  is  vast  and  magnificent  in  nature  and  in  art ;  shed- 
ding over  the  character  of  its  possessor  an  indescribable 
grace,  softening  the  very  tones  of  the  voice,  and  rendering 

30  it  impossible  for  the  manners  to  be  wanting  in  deference 
and  courtesy  towards  parents,  or  teachers,  or  the  aged  of 
any  description. 

Where  the  sentiment  of  reverence  is  deficient,  a  found- 
ation is  wanting  for  many  graceful  superstructures ;  and 

35  the  defect  shows  itself  in  various  ways,  of  which  the  ir- 
reverent are  little  aware ;  or  they  would  endeavor  to  sup- 
ply the  deficiency,  as  a  mere  matter  of  taste,  if  not  of 
principle.     Such   persons  will  have  unpleasant  manners, 


236  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxn. 

which  no  rules  of  good-breeding  will  correct ;  and  as  the 
irreverent  state  of  feeling  grows  by  indulgence  in  disre- 
spectful demeanor,  they  are  in  danger  of  becoming  bold, 
reckless,  and  even  impious. 

5  You  whom  I  address  are  yet  young;  whatever  may 
have  been  your  education,  you  are  yet  young  enough  to 
reeducate  yourselves ;  you  have  hearts  capable  of  being 
touched  by  the  beautiful,  the  true,  the  sublime.  You  feel 
reverence  for  God  and  the  things  that  belong  to  religion ; 

10  but  you  have  not,  perhaps,  considered  how  the  same  sen- 
timent is  connected  with  other  relations  in  life. 

In  all  the  great  moral  authors  whom  you  have  read, 
you  have  found  filial  piety,  and  reverence  for  the  aged, 
treated  as  indispensable  qualities  in  a  virtuous  character, 

15  whether  heathen  or  Christian ;  but  you  may  never  have 
reflected  on  the  indications  which  you  give  of  the  want 
of  it  in  your  own.  If,  then,  your  conscience  tells  you 
that  you  are  guilty  of  those  faults  of  manner  which  I 
have  described  as  but  too  common  in  our  society,  you  may 

20  be  sure  that  your  feelings  of  reverence  need  quickening 
and  cultivating ;  and  if  you  would  escape  becoming  the 
harsh,  ungraceful  character,  which  grows  out  of  such  dp 
linquency,  you  must  reform  your  manners. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  some  young  ladies  think  them- 

25  selves  excused  from  the  duty  of  filial  reverence,  because 
they  are  more  highly  educated  than  their  parents ;  they 
have  more  knowledge,  more  refinement;  and  therefore 
they  may  dictate,  contradict,  and  set  up  their  judgments 
in  opposition  to  their  fathers'  and  mothers' !     But  this  is  a 

30  great  mistake :  no  superiority  of  culture  can  change  the 
relation  of  child  and  parent,  or  annul  the  duties  that  grow 
out  of  it. 

The  better  your  education  has  been,  the  more  cause  for 
gratitude  to  those  who  have  procured  for  you  this  blessing ; 

35  the  higher  the  culture,  the  more  you  are  bound  to  perform 
well  all  the  duties  of  life ;  the  greater  your  refinement, 
the  more  perfect  should  be  your  manners  towards  your 
parents ;  the  more  your  influence  is  needed  in  the  family, 
the  more  important  it  is  that  you  should  not  impair  it,  by 

40  such  faults  as  the  uneducated  can  judge  of,  as  well  as  the 
most  cultivated.  There  is,  besides,  a  great  meanness  in 
turning  against  your  parents  the  weapons  which  their 
kindness  has  put  into  your  hands. 

The  acquirements  of  their  children  often  make  parents 


BX.  XXXIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  237 

feel  their  own  deficiencies  very  painfully ;  and  nothing  but 
the  most  respectful  behavior,  on  the  part  of  the  offspring, 
can  lessen  the  mortification,  and  convince  them  that,  apart 
from  all  such  adventitious  circumstances,  they  have  unde- 

5     niable  claims  to  the  love  and  reverence  of  their  children. 

Nothing  can  justify  the  want  of  respect,  in  the  manners 

of  children  to  parents,  of  pupils  to  teachers,  of  the  young 

to  the  aged  ;  not  even  faults  of  character  in  the  individuals 

claiming  such  deference  and  regard.    It  is  due  to  yourself 

10  to  treat  the  relation  with  respect ;   and  the  more  perfectly 
proper  your  manners  are,  the  greater  will  be  your  influence. 
There  is  nothing,  in  the  whole  circle  of  domestic  rela- 
tions, so  lovely,  so  pure,  so  honorable  to  both  parties,  as 
the  respectful,  affectionate,  and  confidential  intercourse  of 

15  some  young  women  with  their  parents.  —  Mrs.  Farrar. 


EXERCISE  XXXm. 
Autu7nn. 

When  the  bright  Virgin  gives  the  beauteous  days, 
'     And  Libra  weighs  in  equal  scales  the  year ; 

From  heaven's  high  cope  the  fierce  effulgence  shook 
Of  parting  Summer,  a  serener  blue, 

20     With  golden  light  enlivened,  wide  invests 
The  happy  world.     Attempered  suns  arise, 
Sweet-beamed,  and  shedding  oft  through  lucid  clouds 
A  pleasing  calm  ;  while  broad,  and  brown,  below 
Extensive  harvests  hang  the  heavy  head. 

25         Rich,  silent,  deep,  they  stand  ;  for  not  a  gale 
Rolls  its  light  billows  o'er  the  bending  plain; 
A  calm  of  plenty !  till  the  ruflfied  air 
Falls  from  its  poise,  and  gives  the  breeze  to  blow. 
Rent  is  the  fleecy  mantle  of  the  sky  ; 

30     The  clouds  fly  diflferent ;  and  the  sudden  sun 
By  fits  eflfulgent  gilds  the  illumined  field, 
And  black  by  fits  the  shadows  sweep  along. 
A  gayly-checkered,  heart-expanding  view, 
Far  as  the  circling  eye  can  shoot  around, 

35     Unbounded  tossing  in  a  flood  of  corn. 

These  are  thy  blessings,  Industry !  rough  power ! 
Whom  labor  still  attends,  and  sweat,  and  pain ; 
Vet  the  kind  source  of  every  gentle  art, 


238  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  rom. 

And  all  the  soft  civility  of  life  ; 

Raiser  of  human  kind  !  by  Nature  cast, 

Naked  and  helpless,  out  amid  the  woods 

And  wilds,  to  rude,  inclement  elements ; 
5     With  various  seeds  of  art  deep  in  the  mind 

Implanted,  and  profusely  poured  around 

Materials  infinite  ;  but  idle  all. 

Still  unexerted,  in  the  unconscious  breast, 

Slept  the  lethargic  powers  ;  corruption  still, 
10     Voracious,  swallowed  what  the  liberal  hand 

Of  bounty  scattered  o'er  the  savage  year  * 

And  still  the  sad  barbarian,  roving,  mixed 

With  beasts  of  prey ;  or  for  his  acorn-meal 

Fought  the  fierce  tusky  boar  ;  a  shivering  wretch ! 
15     Aghast  and  comfortless,  when  the  bleak  north, 

With  Winter  charged,  let  the  mixed  tempest  fly, 

Hail,  rain  and  snow,  and  bitter-breathing  frost : 

Then  to  the  shelter  of  the  hut  he  fled ; 

And  the  wild  season,  sordid,  pined  away. 
20         For  home  he  had  not ;  home  is  the  resort 

Of  love,  of  joy,  of  peace  and  plenty;  where 

Supporting  and  supported,  polished  friends 

And  dear  relations  mingle  into  bliss. 
Bi^";  this  the  rugged  savage  never  felt, 
25     E'en  desolate  in  crowds  ;  and  thus  his  days 

Rolled  heavy,  dark,  and  unenjoyed  along : 

A  waste  of  time  !  till  Industry  approached, 

And  roused  him  from  his  miserable  sloth ; 

His  faculties  unfolded  ;  pointed  out 
30     Where  lavish  Nature  the  directing  hand 

Of  Art  demanded ;  showed  him  how  to  raise 

His  feeble  force  by  the  mechanic  powers, 

To  dig  the  mineral  from  the  vaulted  earth ; 
On  what  to  turn  the  piercing  rage  of  fire ; 
35     On  what  the  torrent,  and  the  gathered  blast ; 

Gave  the  tall  ancient  forest  to  his  axe  ; 

Taught  him  to  chip  the  wood,  and  hew  the  stone. 

Till  by  degrees  the  finished  fabric  rose  ; 

Tore  from  his  limbs  the  blood-polluted  fur, 
40     And  wrapped  them  in  the  woolly  vestment  warm, 

Or  bright  in  glossy  silk  and  flowing  lawn ; 

With  wholesome  viands  filled  his  table  ;  poured 

The  generous  glass  around,  inspired  to  wake 

The  life-refining  soul  of  decent  wit ; 


EX.  XXXrV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  239 

Nor  stopped  at  barren  bare  necessity  ; 
But  still  advancing  bolder,  led  him  on 
To  pomp,  to  pleasure,  elegance  and  grace  ; 
And,  breathing  high  ambition  through  his  soul, 
5     Set  science,  wisdom,  glory,  in  his  view, 

And  bade  him  be  the  lord  of  all  below.         Thomson, 


EXERCISE  XXXIV. 

The  First  and  the  Last  Dinner. 

Twelve  friends,  much  about  the  same  age,  and  fixed  by 
their  pursuits,  their  family  connexions,  and  other  local 
interests,   as   permanent   inhabitants   of    the    metropolis, 

10  agreed,  one  day,  when  they  were  drinking  wine  at  the 
Star  and  Garter  at  Richmond,  to  institute  an  annual  din- 
ner among  themselves,  under  the  following  regulations  : 
That  they  should  dine  alternately  at  each  others'  houses 
on  the  first  and  last  day  of  the  year ;   and  the  first  bottle 

15  of  wine  uncorked  at  the  first  dinner  should  be  recorked 
and  put  away,  to  be  drank  by  him  who  should  be  the  last 
of  their  number :  that  they  should  never  admit  a  new  mem- 
ber ;  that,  when  one  died,  eleven  should  meet,  and  when 
another  died  ten  should  meet,  and  so  on  ;   and  when  only 

20  one  remained,  he  should,  on  these  two  days,  dine  by  him- 
self, and  sit  the  usual  hours  at  his  solitary  table  ;  but 
the  first  time  he  had  so  dined,  lest  it  should  be  the  only 
one,  he  should  then  uncork  the  first  bottle,  and  in  the  first 
glass  drink  to  the  memory  of  all  who  were  gone. 

25  Some  thirty  years  had  now  glided  away,  and  only  ten 
remained  ;  but  the  stealing  hand  of  time  had  written  sun- 
dry changes  in  most  legible  characters.  Raven  locks  had 
become  grizzled  ;  two  or  three  heads  had  not  as  many 
locks  as  may  be  reckoned  in  a  walk  of  half  a  mile  along 

30  the  Regent's  Canal;  one  was  actually  covered  with  a 
brown  wig ;  the  crow's  feet  were  visible  in  the  corner  of  the 
eye ;  good  old  port  and  warm  Madeira  carried  it  against 
hock,  claret,  red  Burgundy,  and  champaigne  ;  stews,  hash- 
es and  ragouts,  grew  into  favor ;  crusts  were  rarely  called 

35  for  to  relish  the  cheese  after  dinner ;  conversation  was  less 
boisterous,  and  it  turned  chiefly  upon  politics  and  the  state 
of  the  funds,  or  the  value  of  landed  property ;  apologies 
were  made  for  coming  in  thick  shoes  and  warm  stockings; 


240  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxiv. 

the  doors  and  windows  were  more  carefully  provided  with 
list  and  sand-bags  ;  the  fire  is  in  more  request ;  and  a  quiet 
game  of  whist  filled  up  the  hours  that  were  wont  to  be 
devoted  to  drinking,  singing,  and  riotous  merriment. 
5  Two  rubbers,  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  at  home  by  eleven 
o'clock,  was  the  usual  cry,  when  the  fifth  or  sixth  glass 
had  gone  round  after  the  removal  of  the  cloth.  At  parting, 
too,  there  was  now  a  long  ceremony  in  the  hall  —  button- 
ing up  great  coats,  tying  on  woollen  comforters,  fixing  silk 

10  handkerchiefs  over  the  mouth  and  up  to  the  ears,  and 
grasping  sturdy  walking-canes  to  support  unsteady  feet. 

Their  fiftieth  anniversary  came,  and  death  had  indeed 
been  busy.  Four  little  old  men,  of  withered  appearance 
and  decrepit  walk,  with  cracked  voices,  and  dim,  rayless 

J 5  eyes,  sat  down,  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  (as  they  tremu- 
lously declared,)  to  celebrate,  for  the  fiftieth  time,  the  first 
day  of  the  year  —  to  observe  the  frolic  compact,  which, 
half  a  century  before,  they  had  entered  into  at  the  Star 
and  Garter  at  Richmond.     Eight  were  in  their  graves  ! 

20  The  four  that  remained  stood  upon  its  confines. 

Yet  they  chirped  cheerily  over  their  glass,  though  they 
could  scarcely  carry  it  to  their  lips,  if  more  than  half  full ; 
and  cracked  their  jokes,  though  they  articulated  their 
words  with  difficulty,  and   heard   each   other  with  still 

25  greater  difficulty.  They  mumbled,  they  chattered,  they 
laughed,  (if  a  sort  of  strangled  wheezing  might  be  called 
a  laugh,)  and  as  the  wine  sent  their  icy  blood  in  warmer 
pulses  through  their  veins,  they  talked  of  their  past  as  if 
it  were  but  a  yesterday  that  had  slipped  by  them ;   and  of 

30  their  future  as  if  it  were  a  busy  century  that  lay  before 
them. 

At  length  came  the  last  dinner ;  and  the  survivor  of 
the  twelve,  upon  whose  head  fourscore  and  ten  winters 
had  showered  their  snow,  ate  his  solitary  meal.     It  so 

35  chanced  that  it  was  in  his  house,  and  at  his  table,  they 

celebrated  the  first.     In  his  cellar,  too,  had  remained,  for 

more  than  fifty  years,  the  bottle  they  had  then  uncorked, 

recorked,  and  which  he  was  that  day  to  uncork  again. 

It  stood  beside  him.    With  a  feeble  and  reluctant  grasp, 

40  he  took  the  "  frail  memorial "  of  a  youthful  vow,  and  for  a 
moment  memory  was  faithful  to  her  office.  She  threw 
open  the  long  vista  of  buried  years  ;  and  his  heart  travelled 
through  them  all.  Their  lusty  and  blithesome  spring,  — 
their  bright  and  fervid  summer,  —  their  ripe  and  temperate 


EX.  rXXV.J  RHETORICAL  READING.  241 

autumn,  —  their  chill,  but  not  too  frozen  winter.  He  saw, 
as  in  a  mirror,  one  by  one,  the  laughing  companions  of 
that  merry  hour  at  Richmond  had  dropped  into  eternity. 
He  felt  the  loneliness  of  his  condition,  (for  he  had  eschewed 
5  marriage,  and  in  the  veins  of  no  living  creature  ran  a  drop 
of  blood  whose  source  was  in  his  own,)  and  as  he  drained 
the  glass  which  he  had  filled,  "  to  the  memory  of  those 
who  were  gone,"  the  tears  slowly  trickled  down  the  deep 
furrows  of  his  aged  face. 

10  He  had  thus  fulfilled  one  part  of  his  vow ;  and  he  pre- 
pared himself  to  discharge  the  other,  by  sitting  the  usual 
number  of  hours  at  his  desolate  table.  With  a  heavy 
heart  he  resigned  himself  to  the  gloom  of  his  own  thoughts; 
a  lethargic  sleep  stole  over  him  —  his  head  fell  upon  his 

15  bosom  —  confused  images  crowded  into  his  mind  —  he  bab- 
bled to  himself — was  silent  —  and  when  his  servant  en- 
tered the  room,  alarmed  by  a  noise  which  he  heard,  he 
found  his  master  stretched  upon  the  carpet  at  the  foot  of 
the  easy-chair,  out  of  which  he  had  slipped  in  an  apoplec- 

20  tic  fit.  He  never  spoke  again,  nor  once  opened  his  eyes, 
though  the  vital  spark  was  not  extinct  till  the  following 
day.     And  this  was  the  last  dinner.  — A^wnymous. 


EXERCISE  XXXV. 
Day. — A  Pastoral,  in  three  parts. 

MORNING. 

In  the  barn  the  tenant  cock, 
Close  to  Partlett  perched  on  high, 
25  Briskly  crows,  (the  shepherd's  clock  I) 

Jocund  that  the  morn  is  nigh. 

Swiftly  from  the  mountain's  brow 
Shadows,  nursed  by  night,  retire ; 
And  the  peeping  sunbeam,  now, 
30  Paints  with  gold  the  village  spire. 

Philomel  forsakes  the  thorn, 
Plaintive  where  she  prates  at  night ; 
And  the  lark,  to  meet  the  morn. 
Soars  beyond  the  shepherd's  sight. 
35  From  the  low-roofed  cottage  ridge. 

See  the  chattering  swallow  spring ; 
21 


242  parkek's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxv 

• 

Darting  through  the  one  arched  bridge, 
Quick  she  dips  her  dappled  wing. 
Now  the  pine-tree's  waving  top 
Gently  greets  the  morning  gale ; 
5  Kidlings  now  begin  to  crop 

Daisies  on  the  dewy  dale. 

From  the  balmy  sweets,  uncloyed, 
(Restless  till  her  task  be  done,) 
Now  the  busy  bee  's  employed 
10  Sipping  dew  before  the  sun. 

Trickling  through  the  creviced  rock, 
Where  the  limpid  stream  distils, 
Sweet  refreshment  waits  the  flock, 
When  't  is  sun-drove  from  the  hills. 
15  Colin  's  for  the  promised  corn 

(Ere  the  harvest  hopes  are  ripe) 
Anxious ;  while  the  huntsman's  horn, 
Boldly  sounding,  drowns  his  pipe. 

Sweet !  oh  sweet,  the  warbling  throng, 
20  On  the  white  emblossomed  spray ! 

Nature's  universal  song 
Echoes  to  the  rising  day. 

NOON. 

Fervid  on  the  glittering  flood 

Now  the  noontide  radiance  glows ; 
25  Drooping  o'er  its  infant  bud. 

Not  a  dew-drop  's  left  the  rose. 
By  the  brook  the  shepherd  dines, 

From  the  fierce  meridian  heat 

Sheltered  by  the  branching  pines, 
30  Pendant  o'er  his  grassy  seat. 

Now  the  flock  forsakes  the  glade, 

Where  unchecked  the  sunbeams  fall. 

Sure  to  find  a  pleasing  shade 

By  the  ivied  abbey  wall. 
35  Echo,  in  her  airy  round. 

O'er  the  river,  rock  and  hill. 

Cannot  catch  a  single  sound, 

Save  the  clack  of  yonder  mill. 
Cattle  court  the  zephyrs  bland, 
40  Where  the  streamlet  wanders  cool, 

Or  with  languid  silence  stand 

Midway  in  the  marshy  pool. 


EI.  XXXV.J  RHETORICAL    READING.  243 

But  from  mountain,  dell,  of  stream, 
Not  a  fluttering  zephyr  springs ; 
Fearful  lest  the  noontide  beam 
Scorch  its  soft,  its  silken  wings. 
5  Not  a  leaf  has  leave  to  stir, 

Nature  's  lulled,  serene  and  still; 
Quiet  e'en  the  shepherd's  cur. 
Sleeping  on  the  heath-clad  hill. 

Languid  is  the  landscape  round, 
10  Till  the  fresh  descending  shower, 

Grateful  to  the  thirsty  ground, 
Raises  every  fainting  flower. 

Now  the  hill,  the  hedge,  are  green. 
Now  the  warblers'  throats  in  tune ; 
16  Blithesome  is  the  verdant  scene. 

Brightened  by  the  beams  of  noon  ' 

EVENING. 

O'er  the  heath  the  heifer  strays 
Free  (the  furrowed  task  is  done ;) 
Now  the  village  windows  blaze, 
20  Burnished  by  the  setting  sun. 

Now  he  sets  behind  the  hill, 
Sinking  from  a  golden  sky : 
Can  the  pencil's  mimic  skill 
Copy  the  refulgent  dye  ? 
25  Trudging  as  the  ploughmen  go, 

(To  the  smoking  hamlet  bound,) 
Giant-like  their  shadows  grow, 
Lengthened  o'er  the  level  ground. 

Where  the  rising  forest  spreads 
30  Shelter  for  the  lordly  dome, 

To  their  high-built  airy  beds, 
See  the  rooks  returning  home  ! 

As  the  lark,  with  varied  tune, 
Carols  to  the  evening  loud, 
35  Mark  the  mild  resplendent  moon, 

Breaking  through  a  parted  cloud ! 

Now  the  hermit  owlet  peeps 
From  the  barn  or  twisted  brake, 
And  the  blue  mist  slowly  creeps, 
40  Curling  on  the  silver  lake. 

As  the  trout,  in  speckled  pride, 
Playful  from  its  bosom  springs. 


244  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxvi. 

To  the  banks  a  ruffled  tide 
Verges  in  successive  rings. 

Tripping  through  the  silken  grass, 
O'er  the  path-divided  dale, 
5  Mark  the  rose-complexioned  lass 

With  her  well-poised  milking-pail ! 
Linnets  with  unnumbered  notes, 
And  the  cuckoo  bird  with  two, 
Tuning  sweet  their  mellow  throats, 
10  Bid  the  setting  sun  adieu. — Cunningham. 


EXERCISE  XXXVI. 

Little  Paul  Dombey^s  Introduction  into  a  Select  Fashionable 
School. 

Doctor  Blimber's  establishment  was  a  great  hot-house, 
in  which  there  was  a  forcing  apparatus  incessantly  at  work. 
All  the  boys  blew  before  their  time.  No  matter  what  a 
young  gentleman  was  intended  to  bear,  Doctor  Blimber 

15  made  him  bear  to  pattern,  somehow  or  other.  This  was 
all  very  pleasant  and  ingenious,  but  the  system  of  forcing 
was  attended  with  its  usual  disadvantages.  There  was 
not  the  right  taste  about  the  premature  productions,  and 
they  did  n't  keep  well. 

20  The  Doctor 'was  a  portly  gentleman  in  a  suit  of  black, 
with  strings  at  his  knees,  and  stockings  below  them.  He 
had  a  bald  head,  highly  polished;  a  deep  voice;  and  a 
chin  so  very  double,  that  it  was  a  wonder  how  he  ever 
managed  to  shave  into  the  creases.     He  had  likewise  a 

25  pair  of  little  eyes  that  were  always  half  shut  up,  and  a 
mouth  that  was  always  half  expanded  into  a  grin,  as  if  he 
had,  that  moment,  posed  a  boy,  and  were  waiting  to  convict 
him  from  his  own  lips. 

The  Doctor's  was  a  mighty  fine  house,  fronting  the  sea. 

30  Not  a  joyful  style  of  house  within,  but  quite  the  contrary. 
Sad-colored  curtains,  whose  proportions  were  spare  and 
lean,  hid  themselves  despondently  behind  the  windows. 
The  tables  and  chairs  were  put  away  in  rows,  like  figures 
in  a  sum ;    fires  were  so  rarely  lighted  in  the  rooms  of 

35  ceremony,  that  they  felt  like  wells,  and  a  visitor  represented 
the  bucket ;  the  dining-room  seemed  the  last  place  in  the 
world  where  any  eating  or  drinking  was  likely  to  occur; 


EX.  XXXVI.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  245 

there  was  no  sound  through  all  the  house  but  the  ticking; 
of  a  great  clock  in  the  hall,  which  made  itself  audible  in 
the  very  garrets ;  and  sometimes  a  dull  crying  of  young 
gentlemen  at  their  lessons,  like  the  murmurings  of  an  as- 
5  semblage  of  melancholy  pigeons. 

Miss  Blimber,  too,  although  a  slim  and  graceful  maid, 
did  no  soft  violence  to  the  gravity  of  the  house.  There 
was  no  light  nonsense  about  Miss  Blimber.  She  kept  her 
hair  short  and  crisp,  and  wore  spectacles.     She  was  dry 

10  and  sandy  with  working  in  the  graves  of  deceased  lan- 
guages. None  of  your  live  languages  for  Miss  Blimber. 
They  must  be  dead  —  stone  dead,  —  and  then  Miss  Blim- 
ber dug  them  up  like  a  Ghoule. 

Mrs.  Blimber,  her  mamma,  was  not  learned  herself,  but 

15  she  pretended  to  be,  and  that  did  quite  as  well.  She  said 
at  evening  parties,  that  if  she  could  have  known  Cicero, 
she  thought  she  could  have  died  contented.  It  was  the 
steady  joy  of  her  life  to  see  the  Doctor's  young  gentlemen 
go  out  walking,  unlike  all  other  young  gentlemen,  in  the 

20  largest  possible  shirt  collars,  and  the  stiffest  possible  cravats. 
It  was  so  classical,  she  said. 

As  to  Mr.  Feeder,  B.A.,  Doctor  Blimber's  assistant,  he 
was  a  kind  of  human  barrel-organ,  with  a  little  list  of  tunes 
at  which  he  was  continually  working,  over  and  over  again, 

25  without  any  variation.  He  might  have  been  fitted  up  with 
a  change  of  barrels,  perhaps,  in  early  life,  if  his  destiny 
had  been  favorable ;  but  it  had  not  been  ;  and  he  had  only 
one,  with  which,  in  a  monotonous  round,  it  was  his  occu- 
pation to  bewilder  the  young  ideas  of  Doctor  Blimber's 

30  young  gentlemen. 

The  young  gentlemen  were  prematurely  full  of  carking 
anxieties.  They  knew  no  rest  from  the  pursuit  of  stony- 
hearted verbs,  savage  noun-substantives,  inflexible  syntactic 
passages,  and  ghosts  of  exercises  that  appeared  to  them  in 

35  their  dreams. 

Under  the  forcing  system,  a  young  gentleman  usually 
took  leave  of  his  spirits  in  three  weeks.  He  had  all  the 
cares  of  the  World  on  his  head  in  three  months.  He  con- 
ceived bitter  sentiments  against  his  parents  or  guardians, 

40  in  four ;  he  was  an  old  misanthrope,  in  five ;  envied  Quin- 
tius  Curtius  that  blessed  refuge  in  the  earth,  in  six ;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  first  twelvemonth  had  arrived  at  the  con- 
clusion, from  which  he  never  afterwards  departed,  that  all 
the  fancies  of  the  poets,  and  lessons  of  the  sages,  were  a 


246  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxvt, 

mere  collection  of  words  and  grammar,  and  had  no  other 
meaning  in  the  world.  But  he  went  on,  blow,  blow,  blow- 
ing, in  the  Doctor's  hot-house,  all  the  time;  and  the  Doctor's 
glory  and  reputation  were  great,  when  he  took  his  wintry 
5  growth  home  to  his  relations  and  friends. 

Upon  the  Doctor's  door-steps,  one  day,  Paul  Dombey 
stood  with  a  fluttering  heart,  and  with  his  small  right  hand 
in  his  father's.  "  Now,  Paul,"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  exultingly. 
"  This  is  the  way  indeed  to  be  Dombey  and  Son,  and  have 

10  money.  You  are  almost  a  man  already."  —  "Almost," 
returned  the  child.  Even  his  childish  agitation  could  not 
master  the  sly  and  quaint  yet  touching  look,  with  which 
he  accompanied  the  reply.  It  brought  a  vague  expression 
of  dissatisfaction  into  Mr.  Dombey's  face;   but  the  door 

15  being  opened,  it  was  quickly  gone. 

"  Doctor  Blimber  is  at  home,  I  believe  ?"  said  Mr.  Dom- 
bey. The  man  said  yes ;  and  as  they  passed  in,  looked 
at  Paul  as  if  he  were  a  little  mouse,  and  the  house  were  a 
trap. 

20  The  Doctor  was  sitting  in  his  portentous  study,  with  a 
globe  at  each  knee,  books  all  round  him,  Homer  over  the 
door,  and  Minerva  on  the  mantel-shelf.  "  And  how  do  you 
do,  sir,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Dombey,  "  and  how  is  my  little 
friend  ? "     Grave  as  an  organ  was  the  Doctor's  speech ; 

25  and  when  he  ceased,  the  great  clock  in  the  hall  seemed  (to 
Paul  at  least)  to  take  him  up,  and  to  go  on  saying,  "  how, 
is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend,  how,  is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend,"  over  and 
over  and  over  again. 

The  little  friend  being  something  too  small  to  be  seen  at 

30  all  from  where  the  Doctor  sat,  over  the  books  on  his  table, 
the  Doctor  made  several  futile  attempts  to  get  a  view  of 
him  round  the  legs;  which  Mr.  Dombey  perceiving,  re- 
lieved the  Doctor  from  his  embarrassment  by  taking  Paul 
up  in  his  arms,  and  sitting  him  on  another  little  table  over 

35  against  the  Doctor,  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Ha  ! "  said  the  Doctor,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with 
his  hand  in  his  breast.  "  Now  I  see  my  little  friend. 
How  do  you  do,  my  little  friend  ?  "  The  clock  in  the  hall 
would  n't  subscribe  to  this  alteration  in  the  form  of  words, 

40  but  continued  to  repeat,  "  how,  is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend,  how, 
is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend  I "  "  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  sir," 
returned  Paul,  answering  the  clock  quite  as  much  as  the 
Doctor. 

"  Ha ! "  said  Dr.  Blimber.     "  Shall  we  make  a  man  of 


EX.  XXXVI.  RHETORICAL   READING.  ^47 

him  ?"  —  "  Do  you  hear,  Paul,"  added  Mr.  Dombey ;  Paul 
being  silent.  —  "  Shall  we  make  a  man  of  him  ?"  repeated 
the  Doctor.  —  "I  had  rather  be  a  child,"  replied  Paul, — 
"  Indeed  ! "  said  the  Doctor.  "  Why  ?" 
5  The  child  sat  on  the  table  looking  at  him,  with  a  curious 
expression  of  suppressed  emotion  in  his  face,  and  beating 
one  hand  proudly  on  his  knee,  as  if  he  had  the  rising  tears 
beneath  it,  and  crushed  them.  But  his  other  hand  strayeil 
a  little  way  the  while,  a  little  further  —  further  from  him 

10  yet  —  until  it  lighted  on  the  neck  of  Florence.  "This  is 
why,"  it  seemed  to  say,  and  then  the  steady  look  was 
broken  up  and  gone  ;  the  working  lip  was  loosened  ;  and 
the  tears  came  streaming  forth.  "Never  mind,"  said  the 
Doctor,  blandly  nodding  his  head.     "  Ne-ver  mind;   we 

15  shall  substitute  new  cares  and  new  impressions,  Mr.  Dom- 
bey, very  shortly.  You  would  still  wish  my  little  friend 
to  acquire  —  "  —  "Everything,  if  you  please.  Doctor," 
returned  Mr.  Dombey,  firmly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  who,  with  his  half-shut  eyes, 

20  and  his  usual  smile,  seemed  to  survey  Paul  with  the  sort 
of  interest  that  might  attach  to  some  choice  little  animal 
he  was  going  to  stuff.  "  Yes,  exactly.  Ha !  We  shall 
impart  a  great  variety  of  information  to  our  little  friend, 
and  bring  him  quickly  forward,  I  dare  say.     I  dare  say. 

25  Quite  a  virgin  soil,  I  believe  you  said,  Mr.  Dombey  ? " 

"  Except  some  ordinary  preparation  at  home,  and  from 
this  lady,"  replied  Mr.  Dombey,  introducing  Mrs.  Pipchin, 
who  instantly  communicated  a  rigidity  to  her  whole  mus- 
cular system,  and  snorted  defiance  beforehand,  in  case  the 

30  Doctor  should  disparage  her ;  "  except  so  far,  Paul  has,  as 
yet,  applied  himself  to  no  studies  at  all." 

Dr.  Blimber  inclined  his  head,  in  gentle  tolerance  of  such 
insignificant  poaching  as  Mrs.  Pipchin's,  and  said  he  was 
glad  to  hear  it.    It  was  much  more  satisfactory,  he  observed, 

35  rubbing  his  hands,  to  begin  at  the  foundation.  And  again 
he  leered  at  Paul,  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  tackle  him 
with  the  Greek  alphabet  on  the  spot. 

"  That  circumstance,  indeed,  Doctor  Blimber,"  pursued 
Mr.  Dombey,  glancing  at  his  little  son,  "  and  the  interview 

40  I  have  already  had  the  pleasure  of  holding  with  you,  ren- 
ders any  further  explanation,  and  consequently  any  further 
intrusion  on  your  valuable  time,  so  unnecessary,  that — " 
"  Permit  me,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  one  moment.  Allow  me 
to  present  Mrs.  Blimber  and  my  daughter,  who  will  be 


248  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxvi. 

associated  with  the  domestic  life  of  our  young  pilgrim  to 
Parnassus." 

"  Mrs.  Blimber,"  for  the  lady,  who  had  perhaps  been  in 
waiting,  opportunely  entered,  followed  by  her  daughter, 
5  that  fair  Se-xton  in  spectacles,  "  Mr.  Dombey.  My  daugh- 
ter Cornelia,  Mr.  Dombey.  Mr.  Dombey,  my  love,"  pur- 
sued the  Doctor,  turning  to  his  wife,  "is  so  confiding  as 
to  —  do  you  see  our  little  friend  ? "  Mrs.  Blimber,  in  an 
excess  of  politeness,  of  which  Mr.  Dombey  was  the  object, 

10  apparently  did  not,  for  she  was  backing  against  the  little 
friend,  and  very  much  endangering  his  position  on  the 
table.  But,  on  this  hint,  she  turned  to  admire  his  classical 
and  intellectual  lineaments,  and  turning  again  to  Mr. 
Dombey,  said,  with  a  sigh,  that  she  envied  his  dear  son. 

15  "  Like  a  bee,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Blimber,  with  uplifted  eyes, 
"  about  to  plunge  into  a  garden  of  the  choicest  flowers,  and 
sip  the  sweets  for  the  first  time.  Virgil,  Horace,  Ovid, 
Terence,  Plautus,  Cicero.  What  a  world  of  honey  have 
we  here  !    It  may  appear  remarkable,  Mr.  Dombey,  in  one 

20  who  is  a  wife  —  the  wife  of  such  a  husband  — "  —  "  Hush, 
hush  !  "  said  Doctor  Blimber.  "  Fie,  for  shame  !  "  —  "  Mr. 
Dombey  will  forgive  the  partiality  of  a  wife,"  said  Mrs. 
Blimber,  with  an  engaging  smile.  Mr.  Dombey  answered 
"  Not  at  all :  "  applying  those  words,  it  is  to  be  presumed, 

25  to  the  partiality,  and  not  to  the  forgiveness. 

"  And  it  may  seem  remarkable  in  one  who  is  a  mother, 
also,"  resumed  Mrs.  Blimber.  —  "And  such  a  mother,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Dombey,  bowing,  with  some  confused  idea  of 
being  complimentary  to  Cornelia.  —  "  But  really,"  pursued 

30  Mrs.  Blimber,  "  1  think  if  I  could  have  known  Cicero,  and 
been  his  friend,  and  talked  with  him  in  his  retirement  at 
Tusculum,  (beau-ti-ful  Tusculum !)  I  could  have  died  con- 
tented." 

A  learned  enthusiasm  is  so  very  contagious,  that  Mr. 

35  Dombey  half  believed  that  this  was  exactly  his  case  ;  and 
even  Mrs.  Pipchin,  who  was  not,  as  we  have  seen,  of  an 
accommodating  disposition  generally,  gave  utterance  to  a 
little  sound  between  a  groan  and  a  sigh,  as  if  she  would 
have  said  that  nobody  but  Cicero  could  have  proved  a  last- 

40  ing  consolation  under  that  failure  of  the  Peruvian  mines, 
but  that  he  indeed  would  have  been  a  very  Davy-lamp  of 
refuge. 

Cornelia  looked  at  Mr.  Dombey  through  her  spectacles, 
as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  crack  a  few  quotations  with 


EI.  XXXVI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  249 

him  from  the  authority  in  question.  But  this  design,  if 
she  entertained  it,  was  frustrated  by  a  knock  at  the  room- 
door.  "Who  is  that?"  said  the  Doctor.  "Oh!  come  in, 
Toots ;  come  in.  Mr.  Dombey,  sir."  Toots  bowed. 
5  "  Quite  a  coincidence  !"  said  Doctor  Blimber.  "  Here  we 
have  the  beginning  and  the  end.  Alpha  and  Omega. 
Our  head  boy,  Mr.  Dombey." 

The   Doctor  might  have  called   him    their  head  and 
shoulders  boy,  for  he  was  at  least  that  much  taller  than 

10  any  of  the  rest.  He  blushed  very  much  at  finding  himself 
among  strangers,  and  chuckled  aloud.  "  An  addition  to 
our  little  Portico,  Toots,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  Mr.  Dombey's 
son."  Young  Toots  blushed  again ;  and  finding,  from  a 
solemn  silence  which  prevailed,  that  he  was  expected  to 

15  say  something,  said  to  Paul,  "  How  are  you  ?  "  in  a  voice 
so  deep,  and  a  manner  so  sheepish,  that  if  a  lamb  had 
roared  it  could  n't  have  been  more  surprising. 

"  Ask  Mr.  Feeder,  if  you  please.  Toots,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"to  prepare  a  few  introductory  volumes  for  Mr.  Dombey's 

20  son,  and  to  allot  him  a  convenient  seat  for  study.  My  dear, 
I  believe  Mr.  Dombey  has  not  seen  the  dormitories." — "  If 
Mr.  Dombey  will  walk  up  stairs,"  said  Mrs.  Blimber,  "  I 
shall  be  more  than  proud  to  show  him  the  dominions  of 
the  drowsy  god."     With  that,  Mrs.  Blimber,  who  was  a 

25  lady  of  great  suavity,  and  a  wiry  figure,  and  who  wore  a 
cap  composed  of  sky-blue  materials,  proceeded  up  stairs 
with  Mr.  Dombey  and  Cornelia. 

While  they  were  gone,  Paul  sat  upon  the  table,  holding 
Florence  by  the  hand,  and  glancing  timidly  from  the  Doc- 

30  tor  round  and  round  the  room,  while  the  Doctor,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  with  his  hand  in  his  breast  as  usual,  held 
a  book  from  him  at  arm's  length,  and  read.  There  was 
something  very  awful  in  this  manner  of  reading.  It  was 
such  a  determined,  unimpassioned,  inflexible,  cold-blooded 

35  way  of  going  to  work.  It  left  the  Doctor's  countenance 
exposed  to  view ;  and  when  the  Doctor  smiled  auspiciously 
at  his  author,  or  knit  his  brows,  or  shook  his  head  and 
made  wry  faces  at  him,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  tell  me, 
sir !  I  know  better,"  it  was  terrific. 

40  Toots,  too,  had  no  business  to  be  outside  the  door,  osten- 
tatiously examining  the  wheels  in  his  watch,  and  counting 
his  half-crowns.  But  that  did  n't  last  long ;  for  Dr.  Blim- 
ber happening  to  change  the  position  of  his  tight  plump 
legs,  as  if  he  were  going  to  get  up.  Toots  swiftly  vanished, 


250  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxvi. 

and  appeared  no  more.  Mr.  Dombey  and  his  conductress 
were  soon  heard  coming  down  stairs  again,  talking  all  the 
way  ;  and  presently  they  reentered  the  Doctor's  study. 
"I  hope,  Mr.  Dombey,"   said  the   Doctor,  laying   down 

5  his  book,  "that  the  arrangements  meet  your  approval."  — 
"  They  are  excellent,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Dombey.  "  I  think 
I  have  now  given  all  the  trouble  I  need,  and  may  take 
my  leave.  Paul,  my  child,"  —  he  \^^ent  close  to  him  as  he 
sat  upon  the  table.     "  Good-bye."  —  "  Good-bye,  papa." 

10  "  I  shall  see  you  soon,  Paul.  You  are  free  on  Satur- 
days and  Sundays,  you  know."  —  "Yes,  papa,"  returned 
Paul,  looking  at  his  sister.  "  On  Saturdays  and  Sun- 
days."—  "  And  you  '11  try  and  learn  a  great  deal  here,  and 
be  a  clever  man,"  said  Mr.  Dombey  ;  "  won't  you  ?  "  —  "I  '11 

J5  try,"  returned  the  child,  wearily.  —  "And  you'll  soon  be 
grown  up,  now  !  "  said  Mr.  Dombey.  —  "  Oh  !  very  soon !  " 
replied  the  child. 

After  patting  him  on  the  head,  and  pressing  his  small 
hand  again,  Mr.  Dombey  took  leave  of  Dr.  Blimber,  Mrs. 

20  Blimber,  and  Miss  Blimber,  with  his  usual  polite  frigidity, 
and  walked  out  of  the  study. 

Despite  his  entreaty  that  they  would  not  think  of  stir- 
ring. Doctor  Blimber,  Mrs.  Blimber,  and  Miss  Blimber  all 
pressed  forward  to  attend  him  to  the  hall ;  and  thus  Mrs. 

25  Pipchin  got  into  a  state  of  entanglement  with  Miss  Blim- 
ber and  the  Doctor,  and  was  crowded  out  of  the  study 
before  she  could  clutch  Florence.  To  which  happy  acci- 
dent Paul  stood  afterwards  indebted  for  the  dear  remem- 
brance, that  Florence  ran  back  to  throw  her  arms  round 

30  his  neck,  and  that  hers  was  the  last  face  in  the  doorway : 
turned  towards  him  with  a  smile  of  encouragement  the 
brighter  for  the  tears  through  which  it  beamed. 

It  made  his  childish  bosom  heave  and  swell  when  it 
was  gone,  and  sent  the  globes,  the  books,  blind  Homer,  and 

35  Minerva,  swimming  round  the  room.  But  they  stopped, 
all  of  a  sudden  ;  and  then  he  heard  the  loud  clock  in  the 
hall  still  gravely  inquiring,  "  how,  is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend, 
how,  is,  my,  lit,  tie,  friend,"  as  it  had  done  before.  He 
sat,  with  folded  hands,  upon  his  pedestal,  silently  listening. 

40  But  he  might  have  answered,  "  weary,  weary !  very  lone- 
ly, very  sad."  And  there,  with  an  aching  void  in  his 
young  heart,  and  all  outside  so  cold,  and  bare,  and  strange, 
Paul  sat  as  if  he  had  taken  life  unfurnished,  and  the  up- 
holsterer were  never  coming. 


EX.  XXXVn.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  251 

EXERCISE  XXXVn. 

bame  Subject^  continued.  —  The  Dinner  Hour. 

Doctor  Blimber  was  already  in  his  place  in  the  dining- 
room,  at  the  top  of  the  table,  with  Miss  Blimber  and  Mrs. 
Blimber  on  either  side  oT  him.  Mr.  Feeder,  in  a  black 
coat,  was  at  the  bottom.     Paul's  chair  was  next  to  Miss 

5  Blimber;  but  it  being  found,  when  he  sat  in  it,  that  his 
eyebrows  were  not  much  above  the  level  of  the  table-cloth, 
some  books  were  brought  in  from  the  Doctor's  study,  on 
which  he  was  elevated,  and  on  which  he  always  sat  from 
that  time  —  carrying  them  in  and  out  himself  on  after 

10  occasions,  like  a  little  elephant  and  castle. 

Grace  having  been  said  by  the  Doctor,  dinner  began. 
There  was  some  nice  soup ;  also  roast  meat,  boiled  meat, 
vegetables,  pie,  and  cheese.  Every  young  gentleman  had 
a  massive  silver  fork,  and  a  napkin ;  and  all  the  arrange- 

15  ments  were  stately  and  handsome.  In  particular,  there 
was  a  butler  in  a  blue  coat  and  bright  buttons,  who  gave 
quite  a  winy  flavor  to  the  table  beer ;  he  poured  it  out  so 
superbly. 

Nobody  spoke,  unless  spoken  to,  except  Dr.  Blimber, 

20  Mrs.  Blimber,  and  Miss  Blimber,  who  conversed  occasion- 
ally. Whenever  a  young  gentleman  was  not  actually 
engaged  with  his  knife  and  fork  or  spoon,  his  eye,  with 
an  irresistible  attraction,  sought  the  eye  of  Dr.  Blimber, 
Mrs.  Blimber,  or  Miss  Blimber,  and  modestly  rested  there. 

25  Toots  appeared  to  be  the  only  exception  to  this  rule.  He 
sat  next  Mr.  Feeder  on  Paul's  side  of  the  table,  and  fre- 
quently looked  behind  and  before  the  intervening  boys  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  Paul. 

Only  once  during  dinner  was  there  any  conversation 

30  that  included  the  young  gentlemen.  It  happened  at  the 
epoch  of  the  cheese,  when  the  Doctor,  having  taken  a 
glass  of  port  wine,  and  hemmed  twice  or  thrice,  said : 

"It  is  remarkable,  Mr.  Feeder,  that  the  Romans — " 
At  the  mention  of  this  terrible  people,  their  implacable 

35  enemies,  every  young  gentleman  fastened  his  gaze  upon 
the  Doctor,  with  an  assumption  of  the  deepest  interest. 
One  of  the  number,  who  happened  to  be  drinking,  and  who 
caught  the  Doctor's  eye  glaring  at  him  through  the  side 
of  his  tumbler,  left  off  so  hastily  that  he  was  convulsed 

40  for  some  moments,  and  in  the  sequel  ruined  Dr.  Blimber's 
point. 


252  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxrvii. 

"  It  is  remarkable,  Mr.  Feeder,"  said  the  Doctor,  begin- 
ning again  slowly,  "  that  the  Romans,  in  those  gorgeous 
and  profuse  entertainments  of  which  we  read  in  the  days 
of  the  emperors,  when  luxury  had  attained  a  height  un- 

5  known  before  or  since,  and  when  whole  provinces  were 
ravaged  to  supply  the  splendid  means  of  one  imperial 
banquet  — "  Here  the  offender,  w^ho  had  been  swelling 
and  straining,  and  waiting  in  vain  for  a  full  stop,  broke 
out  violently. 

10  *'  Johnson,"  said  Mr.  Feeder,  in  a  low,  reproachful  voice, 
"  take  some  water."  The  Doctor,  looking  very  stern, 
made  a  pause  until  the  water  was  brought,  and  then  re- 
sumed :  —  "  And  when,  Mr.  Feeder  — "  But  Mr.  Feeder, 
who  saw  that  Johnson  must  break  out  again,  and  who 

15  knew  that  the  Doctor  would  never  come  to  a  period  be- 
fore the  young  gentlemen  until  he  had  finished  all  he 
meant  to  say,  could  n't  keep  his  eyes  oflT  Johnson;  and 
thus  was  caught  in  the  fact  of  not  looking  at  the  Doctor, 
who  consequently  stopped. 

20  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Feeder,  reddening. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Doctor  Blimber."  —  "  And  when," 
said  the  Doctor,  raising  his  voice,  "  when,  sir,  as  we  read, 
and  have  no  reason  to  doubt  —  incredible  as  it  may  ap- 
pear to  the  vulgar  of  our  time  —  the  brother  of  Vitellius 

25  prepared  for  him  a  feast,  in  which  were  served,  of  fish, 
two  thousand  dishes  —  "  —  "  Take  some  w^ater,  Johnson  — 
dishes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Feeder.  —  "  Of  various  sorts  of  fowl, 
five  thousand  dishes,"  —  "  Or  try  a  crust  of  bread,"  said 
Mr.  Feeder.  — 

30  "  And  one  dish,"  pursued  Doctor  Blimber,  raising  his 
voice  still  higher,  as  he  looked  all  round  the  table,  "  called, 
from  its  enormous  dimensions,  the  Shield  of  Minerva, 
and  made,  among  other  costly  ingredients,  of  the  brains 
of  pheasants — "  —  "  Ow,  ow,  ow!"  (from  Johnson.)  — 

35  "  Woodcocks,"  —  "  Ow,  ow,  ow !  "  —  "  The  sounds  of  the 

fish  called  scari,"  —  "You'll  burst  some  vessel  in  your 

head,"  said  Mr.  Feeder.     "  You  had  better  let  it  come."  — 

"  And  the  spawn  of  the  lamprey,   brought  from  the 

Carpathian  Sea,"  pursued  the  Doctor,  in  his  severest  voice ; 

40  "  when  we  read  of  costly  entertainments  such  as  these, 
and  still  remember  that  we  have  a  Titus,"  —  "  What  would 
be  your  mother's  feelings  if  you  died  of  apoplexy  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Feeder.  —  "A  Domitian,"  —  "  And  you  're  blue,  you 
know,"  said  Mr.  Feeder.  —  "A  Nero,  a  Tiberius,  a  Cali- 


EX.  XXXVn.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  253 

gula,  a  Heliogabalus,  and  many  more,"  pursued  the  Doc- 
tor; "it  is,  Mr.  Feeder  —  if  you  are  doing  me  the  honor 
to  attend  —  remarkable  ;  very  remarkable,  sir  — " 

But  Johnson,  unable  to  suppress  it  any  longer,  burst 
5  at  that  moment  into  such  an  overwhelming  fit  of  cough- 
ing, that,  although  both  his  immediate  neighbors  thumped 
him  on  the  back,  and  Mr.  Feeder  himself  held  a  glass  of 
water  to  his  lips,  and  the  butler  walked  him  up  and  down 
several  times  between  his  o\vn  chair  and  the  sideboard, 
10  like  a  sentry,  it  was  full  five  minutes  before  he  was  mod- 
erately composed.     Then  ^ere  was  a  profound  silence. 

"  Gentlemen"  said  Doctor  Blimber,  "  rise  for  grace  I 
Cornelia,  lift  Dombey  down,"  —  nothing  of  whom  but  his 
scalp  was  accordingly  seen  above  the  table-cloth.  "  John- 
15  son  will  repeat  to  me  to-morrow  morning,  before  breakfast, 
without  book,  and  from  the  Greek  Testament,  the  first 
epistle  of  Saint  Paul  to  the  Ephesians.  We  will  resume 
our  studies,  Mr.  Feeder,  in  half  an  hour." 

The  young  gentlemen  bowed  and  withdrew.  Mr.  Feed- 
20  er  did  likewise.  During  the  half  hour,  the  young  gentle- 
men, broken  into  pairs,  loitered  arm-in-arm  up  and  down 
a  small  piece  of  ground  behind  the  house,  or  endeavored 
to  kindle  a  spark  of  animation  in  the  breast  of  Briggs. 
But  nothing  happened  so  vulgar  as  play.  Punctually  at 
25  the  appointed  time,  the  gong  was  sounded,  and  the  studies, 
under  the  joint  auspices  of  Doctor  Blimber  and  Mr.  Feed- 
er, were  resumed. 

As  the  Olympic  game  of  lounging  up  and  down  had 
been  cut  shorter  than  usual  that  day,  on  Johnson's  ac- 
30  count,  they  all  went  out  for  a  walk  before  tea.  Even 
Briggs  (though  he  had  n't  begun  yet)  partook  of  this  dis- 
sipation ;  in  the  enjoyment  of  which  he  looked  over  the 
cliff  two  or  three  times  darkly.  Doctor  Blimber  accom- 
panied them ;  and  Paul  had  the  honor  of  being  taken  in 
35  tow  by  the  Doctor  himself :  a  distinguished  state  of  things, 
in  which  he  looked  very  little  and  feeble. 

Tea  was  served  in  a  style  no  less  polite  than  the  dinner ; 
and  after  tea,  the  young  gentlemen,  rising  and  bowing  as 
before,  withdrew  to  fetch  up  the  unfinished  tasks  of  that  day, 
40  or  to  get  up  the  already  looming  tasks  of  to-morrow.  In  the 
mean  time  Mr.  Feeder  withdrew  to  his  own  room ;  and  Paul 
sat  in  a  corner,  wondering  whether  Florence  was  thinking 
of  him,  and  what  they  were  all  about  at  Mrs.  Pipchin's. 

At  eight  o'clock  or  so,  the  gong  sounded  again  for 
22 


254  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xxxix. 

prayers  in  the  dining-room,  where  the  butler  afterwards 
presided  over  a  side  table,  on  which  bread  and  cheese  and 
beer  were  spread  for  such  young  gentlemen  as  desired  to 
partake  of  those  refreshments.  The  ceremonies  concluded 
5  by  the  Doctor's  saying,  "  Gentlemen,  we  will  resume  our 
studies  at  seven  to-morrow ;  "  and  then,  for  the  first  time, 
Paul  saw  Cornelia  Blimber's  eye,  and  saw  that  it  was  upon 
him.  When  the  Doctor  had  said  these  words,  "Gentle- 
men, we  will  resume  our  studies  at  seven  to-morrow,"  the 
10  pupils  bowed  again  and  went  to  bed.  —  Dickens. 


EXERCISE  XXXVIII. 

Oratcyr  Puff. 

Mr.  Orator  Puff  had  two  tones  in  his  voice, 
The  one  squeaking  thus,  and  the  other  down  so ; 
In  each  sentence  he  uttered  he  gave  you  your  choice, 
For  one  half  was  B  alt.  and  the  rest  G  below. 
15  Oh  !  oh  !  orator  Puff, 

One  voice  for  one  orator  's  surely  enough. 
But  he  still  talked  away,  spite  of  coughs  and  of  frowns, 
So  distracting  all  ears  with  his  ups  and  his  downs, 
That  a  wag  once,  on  hearing  the  orator  say, 
J20  "  My  voice  is  for  war,"  asked  him,  which  of  them,  pray? 
Oh!  oh!  &c. 
Reeling  homewards,  one  evening,  top  heavy  with  gin. 
And  rehearsing  his  speech  on  the  weight  of  the  crown. 
He  tripped  near  a  saw-pit,  and  tumbled  right  in, 
25  "  Sinking  fund,"  the  last  words  as  his  noddle  came  down. 
Oh!  oh!  &c. 
"  Ah !  me,"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  he  and  she  tones, 
"  Help  me  out  —  help  me  out — I  have  broken  my  bones  !" 
"  Help  you  out ! "  said  a  Paddy  who  passed,  "  what  a  bother ! 
30  Why,  there  's  two  of  you  there ;  can't  vou  help  one  another  ?  " 
Oh !  oh !  &c.  '  T.  Moore. 


EXERCISE  XXXIX. 

Soliloquy  of  Dick  the  Apprentice. 

Thus  far  we  run  before  the  wind.  —  An  apothecary !  — 
Make  an  apothecary  of  me !  —  What !  cramp  my  genius 


EX.  XL.J  RHETORICAL    READING.  255 

over  a  pestle  and  mortar !  or  mew  me  up  in  a  shop,  with 
an  alligator  stuffed,  and  a  beggarly  account  of  empty- 
boxes  !  To  be  culling  simples,  and  constantly  adding  to 
the  bills  of  mortality !  —  No  !  no  !  It  will  be  much  better 
5  to  be  pasted  up  in  capitals,  "  The  part  of  Romeo  by  a 
young  gentleman,  who  never  appeared  on  any  stage  be- 
fore !  "     My  ambition  fires  at  the  thought. But  hold  ; 

mayn't  I  run  some  chance  of  failing  in  my  attempt? 
Hissed  —  pelted  —  laughed    at  —  not   admitted    into  the 

10  green  room ;  —  that  will  never  do  —  down,  busy  devil, 
down,  down  !  Try  it  again  —  loved  by  the  women  —  envied 
by  the  men  —  applauded  by  the  pit,  clapped  by  the  galle- 
ry, admired  by  the  boxes.  "  Dear  colonel,  is  n't  he  a 
charming  creature? — My  Lord,  don't  you  like  him  of  all 

15  things?  —  Makes  love  like  an  angel!  —  What  an  eye  he 
has!  —  Fine  legs!  —  I  shall  certainly  go  to  his  benefit." 
—  Celestial  sounds!  —  And  then  I '11  get  in  with  all  the 
painters,  and  have  myself  put  up  in  every  print  shop  — 
in  the  character  of  Macbeth !     "  This  is  a  sorry  sight." 

20  {Stands  an  attitude.)  In  the  character  of  Richard,  "  Give 
me  another  horse  !  Bind  up  my  wounds  !  "  This  will  do 
rarely.  —  And  then  I  have  a  chance  of  getting  well  mar- 
ried.—  Oh  glorious  thought!  I  will  enjoy  it,  though  but 
in  fancy.     But  what 's  o'clock  ?     It  must  be  almost  nine. 

25  I  '11  away  at  once;  this  is  club  night  —  the  spouters  are 
all  met  —  little  think  they  I  'm  in  town  —  they  '11  be  sur- 
prised to  see  me  — oflf  I  go ;  and  then  for  my  assignation 
with  my  master  Gargle's  daughter. 

Limbs,  do  your  office,  and  support  me  well ; 
Bear  me  to  her,  then  fail  me  if^  you  can. 


EXERCISE  XL. 

Facetious  History  of  John  Gilpin. 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen  of  credit  and  renown ; 
A  train-band  captain  eke  was  he,  of  famous  London  town.        [been 
John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear,  —  "Though  wedded  we  have 
These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we  no  holiday  have  seen. 

35       '*  To-morrow  is  our  wedding-day,  and  we  shall  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton,  all  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 
My  sister  and  my  sister's  child,  myself  and  children  three, 
Will  fill  the  chaise  ;  so  you  must  ride  on  horseback  after  we." 
He  soon  replied,  —  "I  do  admire  of  woman-kind  but  one; 

40  And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear,  therefore  it  shall  be  done. 
I  am  a  linen  draper  bold,  as  all  the  world  doth  know  j 
And  my  good  friend,  Tom  Calender,  will  lend  his  horse  to  go." 


256  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xl. 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  —  "  That 's  well  said,  and,  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
We  will  be  furnished  with  our  own,  which  is  so  bright  and  clear. 
John  Gilpin  kissed  his  loving  wife;  o'erjoyed  was  he  to  find, 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent,  she  had  a  frugal  mind. 
5      The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought,  but  yet  Avas  not  allowed 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all  should  say  that  she  was  proud. 
So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  staid,  where  they  did  all  get  in  — 
Six  precious  souls ;  and  all  agog  to  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 
Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels,  were  never  folks  so 
10  glad ; 

The  stones  did  rattle  underneath,  as  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 
John  Gilpin,  at  his  horse's  side,  seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got  in  haste  to  ride,  but  soon  came  down  again. 
For  saddle-tree  scarce  reached  had  he,  his  journey  to  begin, 
15  When,  turning  round  his  face,  he  saw  three  customers  come  in. 
So  down  he  came;  for  loss  of  time,  although  it  grieved  him  sore. 
Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew,  would  grieve  him  still  much 
more. 
'T  was  long  before  the  customers  were  suited  to  their  mind, 
20  When  Betty  screamed  into  his  ears  —  "  The  wine  is  left  behind !  " 
''  Good  lack !  "  quoth  he  ;  "  yet  bring  it  me  ;  my  leathern  belt  likewise, 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword  when  I  do  exercise." 

Now  Mrs.  Gilpin  —  careful  soul  —  had  two  stone  bottles  found, 
To  hold  the  liquor  which  she  loved,  and  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 
25  Each  bottle  had  two  curling  ears,  through  which  the  belt  he  drew; 
He  hung  one  bottle  on  each  side,  to  make  his  balance  true. 
Then,  over  all,  that  he  might  be  equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brushed  and  neat,  he  manfully  did  throw. 
Now  see  him  mounted  once  again  upon  his  nimble  steed, 
30  Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones,  with  caution  and  good  heed. 
But,  finding  soon  a  smoother  road  beneath  his  well-shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot,  which  galled  him  in  his  seat. 
So  "  fair  and  softly,"  John  did  cry,  but  John  he  cried  in  vain ; 
The  trot  became  a  gallop  soon,  in  spite  of  curb  or  rein. 
35       So  stooping  down,  as  he  needs  must  who  cannot  sit  upright. 

He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands,  and  eke  with  all  his  might. 
Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought,  away  went  hat  and  wig ; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out,  of  running  such  a  rig. 
The  horse,  who  never  had  before  been  handled  in  this  kind, 
40  Affrighted  fled :  and,  as  he  flew,  left  all  the  world  behind. 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly,  like  streamers  long  and  gay ; 
Till  loop  and  button  failing  both,  at  last  it  flew  away. 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern  the  bottles  he  had  slung; 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side,  as  has  been  said  or  sung. 
45  The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed,  up  flew  the  windows  all ; 
And  every  soul  cried  out,  "Well  done!"  as  loud  as  they  could  bawl. 
Away  went  Gilpin  —  who  but  he?  his  fame  soon  spread  around  — 
"  He  carries  weight !  —  he  rides  a  race !  —  't  is  for  a  thousand  pound." 
And  still  as  fast  as  he  drew  near,  't  was  wonderful  to  view, 
DO  How,  in  a  trice,  the  turnpike  men  their  gates  wide  open  threw. 
And  now  as  he  went  bowing  down  his  reeking  head  full  low, 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back,  were  shattered  at  a  blow. 
Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road,  most  piteous  to  be  seen. 
And  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke,  as  he  had  basted  been. 


II.  XL.]  RHETORICAL  READING.  257 

But  Still  he  seemed  to  carry  weight,  with  leathern  girdle  braced; 
For  still  the  bottle  necks  were  left,  both  dangling  at  his  waist. 
Thus  all  through  merry  Islington  those  gambols  he  did  play, 
And  till  he  came  unto  the  wash  of  Edmonton  so  gay. 
5       And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about  on  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop,  or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 
At  Edmonton,  his  loving  wife,  from  the  balcony,  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much  to  see  how  he  did  ride. 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin,  here 's  the  house !"  they  all  at  once  did  cry ; 
10  "  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired  !  "    Said  Gilpin,  —  "  So  am  I !  " 
But  ah,  his  horse  was  not  a  whit  inclined  to  tarry  there : 
For  why  ?  —  his  owner  had  a  house  full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  dew,  shot  by  an  archer  strong ; 
So  he  did  fly  —  which  brings  me  to  the  middle  of  my  song. 
15  Away  went  Gilpin  out  of  breath,  and  sore  against  his  will, 
Till  at  his  friend's,  Tom  Calender's,  his  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

Tom  Calender,  surprised  to  see  his  friend  in  such  a  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate,  and  thus  accosted  him  : 
"  "What  news,  what  news  ?  —  the  tidings  tell ;  make  haste  and  tell 
20  me  all ! 

Say,  why  bare-headed  are  you  come,  or  why  you  come  at  all  ?  " 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit,  and  loved  a  timely  joke ; 
And  thus  unto  Tom  Calender  in  merry  strains  he  spoke  :  — 
"  I  come  because  your  horse  would  come  ;  and  if  I  well  forbode, 
25  My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here,  they  are  upon  the  road," 

Tom  Calender,  right  glad  to  find  his  friend  in  merry  pin. 
Returned  him  not  a  single  word,  but  to  the  house  went  in.        [hind, 
Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig,  —  a  wig  that  drooped  be- 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear ;  each  comely  in  its  kind. 
30      He  held  them  up,  and,  in  his  turn,  thus  showed  his  ready  wit :  — 
"  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours,  they  therefore  needs  must  fit. 
But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away  that  hangs  about  your  face  ; 
And  stop  and  eat  —  for  well  you  may  be  in  a  hungry  case !  " 

Said  John  —  "  It  is  my  wedding-day ;  and  folks  would  gape  and 
35  stare, 

If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton,  and  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 

Then  speaking  to  his  horse,  he  said,  "  I  am  in  haste  to  dine ; 

'T  was  tor  your  pleasure  you  came  here,  you  shall  go  back  for  mine." 

Ah  !  luckless  word,  and  bootless  boast,  for  which  he  paid  full  dear ; 
40  For,  while  he  spoke,  a  braying  ass  did  sing  most  loud  and  clear  : 
Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  if  he  heard  a  lion  roar  ; 
And  galloped  off  with  all  his  might,  as  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin  —  and  away  went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig ; 
He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first :  for  why  ?  —  they  were  too  big. 
45  Now  Gilpin's  wife,  when  she  had  seen  her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away,  she  pulled  out  half  a  crown ; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said  that  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
"  This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  back  bring  my  husband  safe  and  well." 
The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  they  met ;  he  tried  to  stop  John's  horse, 
50  By  seizing  fast  the  flowing  rein ;  but  only  made  things  worse  : 

For,  not  performing  what  he  meant,  and  gladly  would  have  done; 
He  thereby  frighted  Gilpin's  horse,  and  made  him  faster  run. 
Away  went  Gilpin  —  and  away  went  post-boy  at  his  heels; 
The  post-boy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss  the  lumber  of  the  wheels. 
22* 


25S  Parker's  exercises  m  [ex.  xli. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road,  thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  post-boy  scampering  in  the  rear,  they  raised  the  hue-and-cry. 
"  Stop  thief!  —  stop  thief!  —  a  highwayman  !  "  not  one  of  them  was 
mute, 
5  So  they,  and  all  that  passed  that  way,  soon  jomed  in  the  pursuit. 
But  all  the  turnpike  gates  again  flew  open  in  short  space  j 
The  men  still  thinking,  as  before,  that  Gilpin  rode  a  race  : 
And  so  he  did,  and  won  it,  too  ;  for  he  got  first  to  town  ; 
Nor  stopped  till  where  he  first  got  up  he  did  again  get  down. 
10      Now  let  us  sing  —  "  Long  live  the  king,  and  Gilpin,  long  live  he ! " 
And  when  he  next  does  ride  abroad,  may  I  be  there  to  see ! 

Cawper. 


EXERCISE  XLI. 

The  Departure  of  the  Gypsies  from  Ellangowan. 

It  was  in  a  hollow  way,  near  the  top  of  a  steep  ascent 
upon  the  verge  of  the  Ellangowan  estate,  that  Mr.  Bertram 
met   the  gypsy  procession.    "Four   or   five    men   formed 

15  the  advanced  guard,  wrapped  in  long,  loose  great  coats, 
that  hid  their  tall,  slender  figures,  as  the  large  slouched 
hats,  drawn  over  their  brows,  concealed  their  wild  features, 
dark  eyes,  and  swarthy  faces.  Two  of  them  carried  long 
fowling-pieces,  one  wore  a  broad-sword  without  a  sheath, 

20  and  all  had  the  Highland  dirk,  though  they  did  not  wear 
that  weapon  openly  or  ostentatiously. 

Behind  them  followed  the  train  of  laden  asses,  and  small 
carts,  or  tumblers,  as  they  were  called  in  that  country,  on 
which  were  laid  the  decrepid  and  the  helpless,  the  aged 

25  and  infant  part  of  the  exiled  community.  The  women  in 
their  red  cloaks  and  straw  hats,  the  elder  children  with 
bare  heads  and  bare  feet,  and  almost  naked  bodies,  had  the 
immediate  care  of  the  little  caravan.  The  road  was  nar- 
row, running  between  two  broken  banks  of  sand,  and  Mr. 

30  Bertram's  servant  rode  forward,  smacking  his  whip  with  an 
air  of  authority,  and  motioning  to  their  drivers  to  allow 
free  passage  to  their  betters. 

His  signal  was  unattended  to.  He  then  called  to  the 
men  who  lounged  idly  on  before,  "  Stand  to  your  beasts' 

36  heads,  and  make  room  for  the  laird  to  pass."  —  "  He  shall 
have  his  share  of  the  road,"  answered  a  male  gypsy  from 
under  his  slouched  and  large-brimmed  hat,  and  without 
raising  his  face,  "  and  he  shall  have  no  more ;  the  high- 
way is  as  free  to  our  cuddies  as  to  his  geldings." 

40       The  tone  of  the  man  being  sulky,  and  even  menacing, 


EX.  XLI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  259 

Mr.  Bertram  thought  it  best  to  put  his  dignity  into  his 
pocket,  and  pass  by  the  procession  quietly,  upon  such  space 
as  they  chose  to  leave  for  his  accommodation,  which  was 
narrow  enough.  To  cover  with  an  appearance  of  indif- 
5  ference  his  feeling  of  the  want  of  respect  with  which  he 
was  treated,  he  addressed  one  of  the  men,  as  he  passed 
him,  without  any  show  of  greeting,  salute,  or  recognition, 
— "  Giles  Baillie,"  he  said,  "  have  you  heard  that  your 
son  Gabriel  is  well  ? "  (the  question  respecting  the  young 

10  man  who  had  been  pressed.) 

"  If  I  had  heard  otherwise,"  said  the  old  man,  looking 
up  with  a  stern  and  menacing  countenance,  "  you  should 
have  heard  it  too."  And  he  plodded  his  way,  tarrying  no 
further  question.     When  the  laird  had  pressed  onward 

15  with  difficulty  among  a  crowd  of  familiar  faces,  —  in  which 
he  now  only  read  hatred  and  contempt,  but  which  had  on 
all  former  occasions  marked  his  approach  with  the  rever- 
ence due  to  that  of  a  superior  being,  —  and  had  got  clear  of 
.  the  throng,  he  could  not  help  turning  his  horse  and  looking 

20  back  to  mark  the  progress  of  the  march.  The  group 
would  have  been  an  excellent  subject  for  the  pencil  of 
Colotte.  The  van  had  already  reached  a  small  and 
stunted  thicket,  which  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and 
which  gradually  hid  the  line  of  march  until  the  last  strag- 

25  glers  disappeared. 

His  sensations  were  bitter  enough.  The  race,  it  is  true, 
which  he  had  thus  summarily  dismissed  from  their  ancient 
place  of  refuge,  was  idle  and  vicious ;  but  had  he  endeav- 
ored to  render  them  otherwise  ?     They  were  not  more 

30  irregular  characters  now  than  they  had  been  while  they 
were  admitted  to  consider  themselves  as  a  sort  of  subor- 
dinate dependants  of  his  family;  and  ought  the  circum- 
stance of  his  becoming  a  magistrate  to  have  made  at  once 
such  a  change  in  his  conduct  towards  them  ?     Some  means 

35  of  reformation  ought  at  least  to  have  been  tried,  before  send- 
ing seven  families  at  once  upon  the  wide  world,  and  de- 
priving them  of  a  degree  of  countenance  which  withheld 
them  at  least  from  atrocious  guilt. 

There  was  also  a  natural  yearning  of  heart  upon  parting 

40  with  so  many  known  and  familiar  faces  ;  and  to  this  feel- 
ing Godfrey  Bertram  was  peculiarly  accessible,  from  the 
limited  qualities  of  his  mind,  which  sought  its  principal 
amusements  among  the  petty  objects  around  him. 

As  he  was  about  to  turn  his  horse's  head  to  pursue  his 


260  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xli. 

journey,  Meg  Merrilies,  who  had  lagged  behind  the  troops, 
unexpectedly  presented  herself.  She  was  standing  upon  one 
of  those  high  banks,  which,  as  we  before  noticed,  overhung 
the  road  ;  so  that  she  was  placed  considerably  higher  than 
5  Ellangowan,  even  though  he  was  on  horseback ;  and  her 
tall  figure,  relieved  against  the  clear  blue  sky,  seemed 
almost  of  supernatural  height  We  have  noticed  that 
there  was  in  her  general  attire,  or  rather  in  her  mode  of 
adjusting  it,  somewhat  of  a  foreign  costume,  artfully  adopt- 

10  ed,  perhaps,  for  the  purpose  of  adding  to  the  effect  of  her 
spells  and  predictions,  or  perhaps  from  some  traditional 
notions  respecting  the  dress  of  her  ancestors.  On  this 
occasion,  she  had  a  large  piece  of  red  cotton  cloth  rolled 
about  her  head  in  the  form  of  a  turban,  from  beneath  which 

15  her  dark  eyes  flashed  with  uncommon  lustre. 

Her  long  and  tangled  black  hair  fell  in  elf  locks  from 
the  folds  of  this  singular  head  gear.  Her  attitude  was  that 
of  a  sybil  in  frenzy,  as  she  stretched  out,  in  her  right  hand, 
a  sapling  bough  which  seemed  just  pulled.   "  I  '11  be  sworn," 

20  said  the  groom,  "  she  has  been  cutting  the  young  ashes  in 
the  Dukit  Park."  The  laird  made  no  answer,  but  contin- 
ued to  look  at  the  figure  which  was  thus  perched  above  his 
path. 

"  Ride  your  ways,"  said  the  gypsy,  "  ride  your  ways, 

25  Laird  of  Ellangowan  —  ride  your  ways,  Godfrey  Bertram  ! 
This  day  have  ye  quenched  seven  smoaking  hearths  ;  — 
see  if  the  fire  in  your  ain  parlor  burn  the  blyther  for  that ! 
Ye  have  riven  the  thack  off  seven  cottar  houses ;  —  look 
if  your  ain  roof-tree  stand  the  faster  !    Ye  may  stable  your 

30  stirks  in  the  shealings  at  Derncleugh  ;  —  see  that  the  hare 
does  not  couch  on  the  hearthstane  at  Ellangowan  !  Ride 
your  ways,  Godfrey  Bertram  !  —  what  do  ye  glowr  after 
our  folk  for  ?  There  's  thirty  hearts  there,  that  wad  hae 
wanted  bread  ere  ye  had  wanted  sunkets,  and  spent  their 

35  life-blood  ere  ye  had  scratched  your  finger,  —  yes,  there  's 
thirty  yonder,  from  the  auld  wife  of  an  hundred  to  the 
babe  that  was  born  last  week,  that  ye  hae  turned  out  o' 
their  bits  o'  bields,  to  sleep  with  the  toad  and  the  black- 
cock in  the  muirs  !     Ride  your  ways,  Ellangowan  !     Our 

40  bairns  are  hinging  at  our  weary  backs  ;  —  look  that  your 
braw  cradle  at  hame  be  the  fairer  spread  up  !  —  Not  that  I 
am  wishing  ill  to  little  Harry,  or  to  the  babe  that 's  yet  to  be 
born  —  God  forbid,  and  make  them  kind  to  the  poor,  and 
better  folk  than  their  father !  — And  now,  ride  e'en  your 


EX.  XLU.]  RHETORICAL   READLVG.  261 

ways,  for  these  are  the  last  words  ye  '11  ever  hear  Meg 
Merrilies  speak,  and  this  is  the  last  reise  that  I  '11  ever  cut 
in  the  bonny  woods  of  Ellangowan." 

So  saying,  she  broke  the  sapling  she  held  in  her  hand, 
5  and  flung  it  into  the  road.  Margaret  of  Anjou,  bestowing 
on  her  triumphant  foes  her  keen-edged  malediction,  could 
not  have  turned  from  them  with  a  gesture  more  proudly 
contemptuous.  The  laird  was  clearing  his  voice  to  speak, 
and  thrusting  his  hand  in  his  pocket  to  find  half  a  crown  ; 

10  the  gypsy  waited  neither  for  his  reply  nor  his  donation, 
but  strode  down  the  hill  to  overtake  the  caravan. 

Ellangowan  rode  pensively  home  ;  and  it  was  remarka- 
ble that  he  did  not  mention  this  interview  to  any  of  his 
family.    The  groom  was  not  so  reserved  :  he  told  the  story 

15  at  great  length  to  a  full  audience  in  the  kitchen,  and  con- 
cluded by  swearing,  that  "  if  ever  the  devil  spoke  by  the 
mouth  of  a  woman,  he  had  spoken  by  that  of  Meg  Merri- 
lies that  blessed  day."  —  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


EXERCISE    XLII. 
Spring. 

Come,  gentle  Spring,  ethereal  Mildness,  come, 

20     And  from  the  bosom  of  yon  dropping  cloud. 
While  music  wakes  around,  veiled  in  a  shower 
Of  shadowing  roses,  on  our  plains  descend. 

O  Hertford,  fitted  or  to  shine  in  courts 
With  unaffected  grace,  or  walk  the  plain 

25     With  innocence  and  meditation  joined 
In  soft  assemblage,  listen  to  my  song. 
Which  thy  own  Season  paints  ;  when  Nature  all 
Is  blooming  and  benevolent,  like  thee. 
And  see  where  surly  Winter  passes  off", 

30     Far  to  the  north,  and  calls  his  ruffian  blasts  : 
His  blasts  obey,  and  quit  the  howling  hill. 
The  shattered  forest,  and  the  ravaged  vale ; 
While  softer  gales  succeed,  at  whose  kind  touch, 
Dissolving  snows  in  livid  torrents  lost, 

35     The  mountains  lift  their  green  heads  to  the  sky. 
As  yet  the  trembling  year  is  unconfirmed, 
And  Winter  oft  at  eve  resumes  the  breeze. 
Chills  the  pale  mom,  and  bids  his  driving  sleets 


262  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xlii. 

Deform  the  day  delightless  .  so  that  scarce 
The  bittern  knows  his  time,  with  bill  ingulfed, 
To  shake  the  sounding  marsh ;  or  from  the  shore 
The  plovers  when  to  scatter  o'er  the  heath, 
5     And  sing  their  wild  notes  to  the  listening  waste. 
At  last  from  Aries  rolls  the  bounteous  sun. 
And  the  bright  Bull  receives  him.     Then  no  more 
The  expansive  atmosphere  is  cramped  with  cold  ; 
But,  full  of  life  and  vivifying  soul, 

10     Lifts  the  light  clouds  sublime,  and  spreads  them  thin, 
Fleecy  and  white,  o'er  all-surrounding  heaven. 

Forth  fly  the  tepid  airs  :  and  unconfined, 
Unbinding  earth,  the  moving  softness  strays. 
Joyous,  the  impatient  husbandman  perceives 

15     Kelenting  Nature,  and  his  lusty  steers 

Drives  from  their  stalls  to  where  the  well-used  plough 
Lies  in  the  furrow,  loosened  from  the  frost. 
There  unrefusing,  to  the  harnessed  yoke 
They  lend  their  shoulder,  and  begin  their  toil 

20     Cheered  by  the  simple  song  and  soaring  lark. 
Meanwhile  incumbent  o'er  the  shining  share 
The  master  leans,  removes  the  obstructing  clay, 
Winds  the  whole  work,  and  sidelong  lays  the  glebe. 
While  through  the  neighboring  fields  the  sower  stalks, 

25     With  measured  step ;  and  liberal  throws  the  grain 
Into  the  faithful  bosom  of  the  ground  :  "^ 

The  harrow  follows  harsh,  and  shuts  the  scene. 
Be  gracious,  Heaven  !  for  now  laborious  man 
Has  done  his  part.     Ye  fostering  breezes,  blow ! 

30     Ye  softening  dews,  ye  tender  showers,  descend ! 
And  temper  all,  thou  world-reviving  sun. 
Into  the  perfect  year !     Nor  ye  who  live 
In  luxury  and  ease,  in  pomp  and  pride. 
Think  these  lost  themes  unworthy  of  your  ear : 

35     Such  themes  as  these  the  rural  Maro  sung 
To  wide-imperial  Rome,  in  the  full  height 
Of  elegance  and  taste,  by  Greece  refined. 
In  ancient  times,  the  sacred  plough  employed 
The  kings  and  awful  fathers  of  mankind  : 

40     And  some,  with  whom  compared  your  insect  tribes 
Are  but  the  beings  of  a  summer's  day. 
Have  held  the  scale  of  empire,  ruled  the  storm 
Of  mighty  war ;  then,  with  unwearied  hand, 
Disdaining  little  delicacies,  seized 

45     The  plough,  and  greatly  independent  lived.      Thomson. 


EX.  XLIII.]  RHETORICAL   KEAULXG.  263 

EXERCISE  XLIII. 

Address  of  the  Massachusetts  Legislature^  Feb.  1797,  to 
George  Washington,  President  of  tJie  United  States^  on 
his  retiring  from  ojffke. 

Sm,  —  As  you  have  announced  to  the  people  of  the 
United  States  your  intention  to  retire  from  the  cares  and 
decline  the  honors  of  public  life,  the  Legislature  of  Mas- 
sachusetts deem  it  a  becoming  duty,  to  express  their  sen- 
5  timents,  and  those  of  their  constituents,  on  this  interesting 
event. 

It  is  not  an  opinion  that  our  public  testimony  of  your 
merits  can  be  necessary  to  the  lustre  of  your  reputation, 
or  the  serenity  of  your  repose,  which  prompts  us  to  join 

10  the  general  voice  of  America  in  applauding  your  great 
and  glorious  services ;  but  we  are  excited  to  this  measure 
by  a  wish  to  exhibit  a  powerful  inducement  to  the  love  of 
our  country,  and  to  transmit  to  future  times  a  record  of  the 
gratitude  of  our  republic. 

15  As  the  able  and  heroic  general,  who  led  our  armies  to 
victory  and  our  country  to  independence,  or  as  an  enlight- 
ened and  patriotic  magistrate,  under  whose  administration 
the  United  States  have  enjoyed  peace  and  prosperity,  your 
conduct  has  furnished  a  great  and  brilliant  example  of  in- 

20  tegrity,  fortitude,  and  wisdom. 

We  trust  that  the  pacific  system  which  you  have  pur- 
sued with  regard  to  the  foreign  relations  of  the  country 
will  be  as  completely  justified  by  its  eventual  success,  as 
it  is  by  the  maxims  of  equity  and  prudence ;  and  we  in- 

25  dulge  the  hope,  that  this  system  will  not  be  discontinued, 
and  that  its  beneficial  effects  will  not  be  confined  to  Amer- 
ica, but  will  tend  to  discredit,  among  the  nations  of  the 
world,  that  false  and  barbarous  policy  which  sacrifices  the 
public  good  at  the  shrine  of  resentment  and  ambition. 

JO  When  this  effect  shall  take  place,  the  cause  of  human- 
ity will  have  derived  a  precious  advantage  from  the  exam- 
ple you  have  given,  that  moderation  is  the  basis  of  true 
dignity,  and  that  those  laurels  which  are  reared  in  sun- 
shine and  peace  are  beyond  comparison  fairer  than  those 

35  which  are  fertilized  by  the  tears  and  blood  of  a  people. 

We  receive  your  address  to  your  fellow-citizens,  upon 
the  occasion  of  your  intended  retirement  from  your  civil 
situation,  with  the  same  sentiments  of  respect  and  emo- 
tions of  gratitude  which  were   inspired   by  that  which 


264  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xliii. 

terminated  your  military  career ;  sensible  that  it  discloses 
an  intelligent  view  of  their  political  interests,  and  discov- 
ers that  affectionate  zeal  for  their  future  welfare  which 
marks  the  character  of  their  common  friend. 
5  Whilst,  in  behalf  of  our  country,  we  lament  the  neces- 
sity which  deprives  her  of  your  services  in  public  life,  we 
cannot  deny  that  so  many  years  of  anxious  toil  for  her 
interests  give  you  the  best  title  to  that  repose  which  you 
have  long  so  ardently  wished  to  enjoy. 

10  You  will  retire,  covered  with  glory  and  followed  with 
the  blessings  of  your  fellow-citizens ;  —  whose  honor  and 
happiness  it  will  be,  that  whilst  you  have  deserved  well  of 
your  country,  that  country  has  never  ceased  to  cherish  a 
grateful  and  admiring  sense  of  your  worth. 

15  Our  fervent  prayers  for  your  health  and  enjoyment  will 
go  with  you  into  the  retreats  of  private  life ;  may  you  live 
to  be  full  of  years,  and  satisfied  with  beholding  the  pros- 
perity of  your  country ;  and  when  you  shall  be  called  from 
the  present  scene,  may  that  beneficent  Being,  who  has 

20  made  you  the  happy  instrument  of  so  much  good  to  man- 
kind, admit  you  to  those  rewards,  in  a  future  state,  which 
this  world  cannot  bestow. 

Boston  Centinel,  March  Sth,  1797. 


EXERCISE   XLm.  — Continued. 
President  Washington's  Reply  to  the  Senators  representing 
the  Ccmimonwealth  of  Massachusetts  hi  the  Congress  of 
the  United  States. 

Gentlemen,  —  The  sentiments  expressed  in  the  address 
you  have  delivered  to  me,  from  the  Senate  and  House  of 

25  Representatives  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  — 
sentiments  as  honorable  to  them  as  to  me,  —  have  excited 
the  most  grateful  emotions.  Whatever  services  I  have 
rendered  to  my  country,  in  its  general  approbation  I  have 
received  an  ample  reward.     Having  nothing  in  view  but 

30  to  vindicate  its  rights,  secure  its  liberty,  and  promote  its 
happiness,  I  might  expect  the  most  efficient  aid  and  sup- 
port in  the  exertions  of  able  and  upright  men,  and  in  the 
general  spirit  of  my  fellow-citizens.  All  this  I  have  ex- 
perienced, and  our  united   efforts  have  resulted  in  our 

35  independence,  peace,  and  prosperity.     And  I  entertain  the 


EX.  XLFV.J  RHETORICAL   READING.  265 

pleasing  hope,  that  the  intelligence  and  superior  infornia- 
tion  of  my  fellow-citizens,  enabling  them  to  discern  their 
true  interests,  will  lead  them  to  the  successive  choice  of 
wise  and  virtuous  men  to  watch  over,  protect  and  promote 

5  them,  who,  while  they  pursue  those  maxims  of  modera- 
tion, equity  and  prudence,  which  will  entitle  our  country 
to  perpetual  peace,  will  cultivate  that  fortitude  and  dignity 
of  sentiment  which  are  essential  to  the  maintenance  of 
our  liberty  and  independence. 

10  Should  it  please  God,  according  to  the  prayers  of  your 
constituents,  to  grant  me  health  and  long  life,  my  greatest 
enjoyment  will  be  to  behold  the  prosperity  of  my  country ; 
and  the  affection  and  attachment  of  my  fellow-citizens, 
through  the  whole  period  of  my  public  employments,  will 

15  be  the  subject  of  my  most  agreeable  recollections :  —  while 
a  belief,  which  the  affecting  sentiments  of  the  people  of 
Massachusetts,  expressed  by  their  Senate  and  House  of 
Representatives,  with  those  of  my  fellow-citizens  in  gen- 
eral, have  inspired,  that  I  have  been  the  happy  instrument 

20  of  much  good  to  my  country  and  to  mankind,  will  be  a 
source  of  unceasing  gratitude  to  Heaven. 

Feb.  24,  1797.  G.  Washington. 


EXERCISE  XLIV. 

Trout  Fishing. 

Now  when  the  first  foul  torrent  of  the  brooks, 
Swelled  with  the  vernal  rains,  is  ebbed  away, 
25     And,  whitening,  down  their  mossy-tinctured  stream 
Descends  the  billowy  foam :  now  is  the  time, 
While  yet  the  dark-brown  water  aids  the  guile, 
To  tempt  the  trout.     The  well-dissembled  fly, 
The  rod  fine-tapering  with  elastic  spring, 
30     Snatched  from  the  hoary  steed  the  floating  line, 
And  all  thy  slender  watery  stores  prepare. 

But  let  not  on  thy  hook  the  tortured  worm 
Convulsive  twist  in  agonizing  folds  ;^ 
Which,  by  rapacious  hunger  swallowed  deep, 
35  Gives,  as  you  tear  it  from  the  bleeding  breast 
Of  the  weak,  helpless,  uncomplaining  wretch, 
Harsh  pain  and  horror  to  the  tender  hand. 

When  with  his  lively  ray  the  potent  sun 
Has  pierced  the  streams,  and  roused  the  fiony  race, 
23 


266  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xliv. 

Then,  issuing  cheerful,  to  thy  sport  repair ; 
Chief  should  the  western  breezes  curling  play, 
And  light  o'er  ether  bear  the  shadowy  clouds. 
High  to  their  fount,  this  day,  amid  the  hills, 
5     And  woodlands  warbling  round,  trace  up  the  brook. 
The  next,  pursue  their  rocky-channeled  maze 
Down  to  the  river,  in  whose  ample  wave 
Their  little  naiads  love  to  sport  at  large. 

Just  in  the  dubious  point,  where  with  the  pool 

10     Is  mixed  the  trembling  stream,  or  where  it  boils 
Around  the  stone,  or  from  the  hollowed  bank 
Reverted  plays  in  undulating  flow. 
There  throw,  nice  judging,  the  delusive  fly; 
And,  as  you  lead  it  round  in  artful  curve, 

15     With  eye  attentive  mark  the  springing  game. 
Straight  as  above  the  surface  of  the  flood 
They  wanton  rise,  or,  urged  by  hunger,  leap. 
Then  fix,  with  gentle  twitch,  the  barbed  hook ; 
Some  lightly  tossing  to  the  grassy  bank, 

20     And  to  the  shelving  shore  slow  dragging  some, 
With  various  hand  proportioned  to  their  force. 

If  yet  too  young,  and  easily  deceived, 
A  worthless  prey  scarce  bends  your  pliant  rod, 
Him,  piteous  of  his  youth  and  the  short  space 

25     He  has  enjoyed  the  vital  light  of  heaven, 
Soft  disengage,  and  back  into  the  stream 
The  speckled  captive  throw.     But  should  you  lure 
From  his  dark  haunt,  beneath  the  tangled  roots 
Of  pendant  trees,  the  monarch  of  the  brook, 

30     Behoves  you  then  to  ply  your  finest  art. 

Long  time  he,  following  cautious,  scans  the  fly; 
And  oft  attempts  to  seize  it,  but  as  oft 
The  dimpled  water  speaks  his  jealous  fear. 
At  last,  while  haply  o'er  the  shaded  sun 

35     Passes  a  cloud,  he  desperate  takes  the  death, 
With  sullen  plunge.     At  once  he  darts  along, 
Deep  struck,  and  runs  out  all  the  lengthened  line 
Then  seeks  the  furthest  ooze,  the  sheltering  weed, 
The  caverned  bank,  his  old  secure  abode ; 

40     And  flies  aloft,  and  flounces  round  the  pool, 
Indignant  of  the  guile. 

With  yielding  hand, 
That  feels  him  still,  yet  to  his  furious  course 
Gives  way,  you,  now  retiring,  following  now 


EX.  XLV.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  267 

Across  the  stream,  exhaust  his  idle  rage  : 

Till,  floating  broad  upon  his  breathless  side, 

And  to  his  fate  abandoned,  to  the  shore 

You  gayly  drag  your  unresisting  prize.       Thomson. 


EXERCISE  XLV. 

On  CorntenimeTd. 

5  Contentment  produces,  in  some  measure,  all  those  ef- 
fects which  the  alchemist  usually  ascribes  to  what  he  calls 
the  philosopher's  stone;  and  if  it  does  not  bring  riches,  it 
does  the  same  thing,  by  banishing  the  desire  of  them.  If 
it  cannot  remove  the  disquietudes  arising  out  of  a  man's 

10  mind,  body,  or  fortune,  it  makes  him  easy  under  them. 
It  has,  indeed,  a  kindly  influence  on  the  soul  of  man,  in 
respect  of  every  being  to  whom  he  stands  related. 

It  extinguishes  all  murmur,  repining  and  ingratitude, 
towards  that  Being  who  has  allotted  him  his  part  to  act 

15  in   this  world.     It  destroys  all  inordinate  ambition,  and 
every  tendency  to  corriiption,  with  regard  to  the  commu- 
nity wherein  he  is  placed.     It  gives  sweetness  to  his  con- 
versation, and  a  perpetual  serenity  to  all  his  thoughts. 
Among  the  many  methods  which  might  be  made  use  of 

20  for  the  acquiring  of  this  virtue,  I  shall  only  mention  the 
two  following.     First  of  all,  a  man  should  always  consid- 
er how  much  he  has  more  than  he  wants ;  and  secondly, 
how  much  more  unhappy  he  might  be  than  he  really  is. 
First  of  all,  a  man  should  always  consider  how  much 

25  he  has  more  than  he  wants.  I  am  wonderfully  pleased 
with  the  reply  which  Aristippus  made  to  one  who  con- 
doled with  him  upon  the  loss  of  a  farm  :  "  Why,"  said 
he,  "  I  have  three  farms  still,  and  you  have  but  one ;  so 
that  I  ought  rather  to  be  afllicted  for  you  than  you  for 

30  me."  On  the  contrary,  foolish  men  are  more  apt  to  con- 
sider what  they  have  lost  than  what  they  possess;  and 
to  fix  their  eyes  upon  those  who  are  richer  than  them- 
selves, rather  than  on  those  who  are  under  greater  difli- 
culties. 

35  All  the  real  pleasures  and  conveniences  of  life  lie  in  a 
narrow  compass;  but  it  is  the  humor  of  mankind  to  be 
always  looking  forward,  and  straining  after  one  who  has 
got  the  start  of  them  in  wealth  and   honor.     For  this 


268  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xlv. 

reason,  as  none  can  be  properly  called  rich  who  have  not 
more  than  they  want,  there  are  few  rich  men,  in  any  of 
the  politer  nations,  but  among  the  middle  sort  of  people, 
who  keep  their  wishes  within  their  fortunes,  and  have 
5  more  wealth  than  they  know  how  to  enjoy.  Persons  of 
a  higher  rank  live  in  a  kind  of  splendid  poverty ;  and  are 
perpetually  wanting,  because,  instead  of  acquiescing  in  the 
solid  pleasures  of  life,  they  endeavor  to  outvie  one  another 
in  shadows  and  appearances. 

10  Men  of  sense  have  at  all  times  beheld  with  a  great 
deal  of  mirth  this  silly  game  that  is  playing  over  their 
heads;  and,  by  contracting  their  desires,  they  enjoy  all 
that  secret  satisfaction  which  others  are  always  in  quest 
of.     The  truth  is,  this  ridiculous  chase  after  imaginary 

15  pleasures  cannot  be  sufficiently  exposed,  as  it  is  the  great 
source  of  those  evils  which  generally  undo  a  nation.  Let 
a  man's  estate  be  what  it  may,  he  is  a  poor  man  if  he 
does  not  live  within  it ;  and  naturally  sets  himself  to  sale 
to  any  one  who  can  give  him  his  price. 

20  When  Pittacus,  after  the  death  of  his  brother,  who  had 
left  him  a  good  estate,  was  offered  a  great  sum  of  money 
by  the  King  of  Lydia,  he  thanked  him  for  his  kindness, 
but  told  him  he  had  already  more  by  half  than  he  knew 
what  to  do  with.     In  short,  content  is  equivalent  to  wealth, 

25  and  luxury  to  poverty;  or,  to  give  the  thought  a  more 
agreeable  turn,  "  Content  is  natural  wealth,"  says  Socrates ; 
to  which  I  shall  add.  Luxury  is  artificial  poverty. 

I  shall   therefore  recommend  to  the  consideration  of 
those  who  are  always  aiming  at  superfluous  and  imagin- 

30  ary  enjoyments,  and  who  will  not  be  at  the  trouble  of  con- 
tracting their  desires,  an  excellent  saying  of  Bion  the  phi- 
losopher, namely,  "  That  no  man  has  so  much  care  as  he 
who  endeavors  after  the  most  happiness." 

In  the  second  place,  every  one  ought  to  reflect  how 

35  much  more  unhappy  he  might  be  than  he  really  is.  The 
former  consideration  took  in  all  those  who  are  sufficiently 
provided  with  the  means  to  make  themselves  easy ;  this 
regards  such  as  actually  lie  under  some  pressure  or  mis- 
fortune.    These  may  receive  great  alleviation  from  such  a 

40  comparison  as  the  unhappy  person  may  make  between 
himself  and  others :  or  between  the  misfortune  which  he 
suffers,  and  greater  misfortunes  which  might  have  befallen 
him. 

I  like  the  story  of  the  honest  Dutehman,  who,  upon 


EX.  XLV,]  RHETORICAL    READING.  269 

breaking  his  leg  by  a  fall  from  the  mainmast,  told  the 
standers  by  it  was  a  great  mercy  that  it  was  not  his  neck. 
To  which,  since  I  am  got  into  quotations,  give  me  leave  to 
add  the  saying  of  an  old  philosopher,  who,  after  having 
5  invited  some  of  his  friends  to  dine  with  him,  was  ruffled 
by  a  person  that  came  into  the  room  in  a  passion,  and 
threw  down  the  table  that  stood  before  them  :  "  Every 
one,"  says  he,  "has  his  calamity;  and  he  is  a  happy  man 
that  has  no  greater  than  this." 

10  We  find  an  instance  to  the  same  purpose  in  the  life  of 
Doctor  Hammond,  written  by  Bishop  Fell.  As  this  good 
man  was  troubled  with  a  complication  of  distempers,  when 
he  had  the  gout  upon  him,  he  used  to  thank  God  that  it 
was  not  the  stone  ;  and  when  he  had  the  stone,  that  he  had 

15  not  both  these  distempers  on  him  at  the  same  time. 

I  cannot  conclude  this  essay  without  observing,  that 
there  never  was  any  system,  besides  that  of  Christianity, 
which  could  effectually  produce  in  the  mind  of  man  the 
virtue  I  have  been  hitherto  speaking  of. 

20  In  order  to  make  us  contented  with  our  condition,  many 
of  the  present  philosophers  tell  us  that  our  discontent  only 
hurts  ourselves,  without  being  able  to  make  any  alteration 
in  our  circumstances  ;  others,  that  whatever  evil  befalls  us 
is  derived  to  us  by  a  fatal  necessity,  to  which  superior 

25  beings  themselves  are  subject ;  while  others  very  gravely 
tell  the  man  who  is  miserable  that  it  is  necessary  he 
should  be  so,  to  keep  up  the  harmony  of  the  universe ;  and 
that  the  scheme  of  Providence  would  be  troubled  and  per- 
verted were  he  otherwise. 

30  These,  and  the  like  considerations,  rather  silence  than 
satisfy  a  man.  They  may  show  him  that  his  discontent 
is  unreasonable,  but  they  are  by  no  means  sufficient  to 
relieve  it.  They  rather  give  despair  than  consolation.  In 
a  word,  a  man  might  reply  to  one  of  these  comforters,  as 

35  Augustus  did  to  his  friend  who  advised  him  not  to  grieve 
for  the  death  of  a  person  whom  he  loved,  because  his  grief 
could  not  fetch  him  again :  "  It  is  for  that  very  reason," 
said  the  emperor,  "  that  I  grieve." 

On  the  contrary,  religion  bears  a  more  tender  regard  to 

40  human  nature.  It  prescribes  to  every  miserable  man  the 
means  of  bettering  his  condition ;  nay,  it  shows  him  that 
the  bearing  of  his  afflictions  as  he  ought  to  do  will  natu- 
rally end  in  the  removal  of  them.  It  makes  him  easy 
here,  because  it  can  make  him  happy  hereafter.  — Addison, 
23* 


270  patiker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xlvi. 

EXERCISE  XLVI. 

Farewell. 

Farewell  —  farewell  to  thee,  Araby's  daughter ! 
(Thus  warbled  a  Peri  beneath  the  dark  sea;) 
No  pearl  ever  lay  under  Oman's  green  water 
More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  spirit  in  thee. 
5  Oh  !  fair  as  the  sea-flower  close  to  thee  growing, 

How  light  was  thy  heart  till  love's  witchery  came, 
Like  the  wind  of  the  south  o'er  a  summer  lute  blowing, 
And  hushed  all  its  music  and  withered  its  frame ! 
But  long,  upon  Araby's  green  sunny  highlands, 
10     Shall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the  doom 
Of  her  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  pearl  islands. 
With  nought  but  the  sea-star  to  light  up  her  tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date  season  is  burning, 
And  calls  to  the  palm-groves  the  young  and  the  old, 
15     The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  returning, 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village  maid,  when  with  flowers  she  dresses 
Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day, 
Will  think  of  thy  fate,  till,  neglecting  her  tresses, 
20     She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  Iran,  beloved  of  her  hero  !  forget  thee, — 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they  start, 
Close,  close  by  the  side  of  that  hero  she  '11  set  thee, 
Embalmed  in  the  innermost  shrine  of  her  heart. 
25         Farewell  —  be  it  ours  to  embellish  thy  pillow 

With  everything  beauteous  that  grows  in  the  deep ; 
Each  flower  of  the  rock,  and  each  gem  of  the  billow, 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed,  and  illumine  thy  sleep. 
Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber 
30     That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea-bird  has  wept ; 

With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollow-wreathed  chamber 
We,  Peris  of  ocean,  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We  '11  dive  where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  darkling, 
And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head ; 
85     Will  seek  where  the  sands  of  the  Caspian  are  sparkling, 
And  gather  their  gold  to  strew  o'er  thy  bed. 

Farewell  —  farewell  —  until  pity's  sweet  fountain 
Is  lost  in  the  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 
They  '11  weep  for  the  chieftain  who  died  on  that  mountain, 
40     They  '11  weep  for  the  maiden  who  sleeps  in  this  wave. 

T.  Mocrre, 


EX.  XLVn.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  271 

EXERCISE  XLVII. 

The  HUl  of  Science. 

In  that  season  of  the  year,  when  the  serenity  of  the  sky, 
the  various  fruits  which  cover  the  ground,  the  discolored 
foliage  of  the  trees,  and  all  the  sweet  but  fading  graces 
of  inspiring  autumn,  open  the  mind  to  benevolence,  and 
5  dispose  it  for  contemplation,  I  was  wandering  in  a  beauti- 
ful and  romantic  country,  till  curiosity  began  to  give  way 
to  weariness ;  and  I  sat  down  on  the  fragment  of  a  rock 
overgrown  with  moss,  where  the  rustling  of  the  falling 
leaves,  the  dashing  of  waters,  and  the  hum  of  the  distant 

10  city,  soothed  my  mind  into  a  most  perfect  tranquillity; 
and  sleep  insensibly  stole  upon  me,  as  I  was  indulging  the 
agreeable  reveries  which  the  objects  around  me  naturally 
inspired. 

I  immediately  found  myself  in  a  vast  extended  plain,  in 

15  the  middle  of  which  arose  a  mountain  higher  than  I  had 
before  any  conception  of.  It  was  covered  with  a  multi- 
tude of  people,  chiefly  youth  ;  many  of  whom  pressed  for- 
ward with  the  liveliest  expression  of  ardor  in  their  coun- 
tenance, though  the  way  was  in  many  places  steep  and 

20  diflicult. 

I  observed  that  those  who  had  but  just  begun  to  climb 
the  hill  thought  themselves  not  far  from  the  top ;  but  as 
they  proceeded,  new  hills  were  continually  rising  to  their 
view ;  and  the  summit  of  the  highest  they  could  before 

25  discern  seemed  but  the  foot  of  another,  till  the  mountain 
at  length  appeared  to  lose  itself  in  the  clouds. 

As  I  was  gazing  on  these  things  with  astonishment,  a 
friendly  instructor  suddenly  appeared :  "  The  m.ountain 
before  thee,"  said  he,  "  is  the  Hill  of  Science.     On  the  top 

30  is  the  temple  of  Truth,  whose  head  is  above  the  clouds, 
and  a  veil  of  pure  light  covers  her  face.  Observe  the  pro- 
gress of  her  votaries  ;  be  silent  and  attentive." 

After  I  had  noticed  a  variety  of  objects,  I  turned  my 
eye  towards  the  multitudes  who  were  climbing  the  steep 

35  ascent ;  and  observed  amongst  them  a  youth  of  a  lively 
look,  a  piercing  eye,  and  something  fiery  and  irregular  in 
all  his  motions.  His  name  was  Genius.  He  darted  like 
an  eagle  up  the  mountain,  and  left  his  companions  gazing 
after  him  with  envy  and  admiration  ;  but  his  progress  was 

40  unequal,  and  interrupted  by  a  thousand  caprices. 

When  Pleasure  warbled  in  the  valley,  he  mingled  in  her 


272  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xlvit. 

train.  When  Pride  beckoned  towards  the  precipice,  he 
ventured  to  the  tottering  edge.  He  delighted  in  devious 
and  untried  paths,  and  made  so  many  excursions  from  the 
road,  that  his  feebler  companions  often  outstripped  him. 
5  I  observed  that  the  Muses  beheld  him  with  partiality;  but 
Truth  often  frowned,  and  turned  aside  her  face. 

While  Genius  was  thus  wasting  his  strength  in  eccentric 
flights,  I  saw  a  person  of  very  different  appearance,  named 
Application.     He  crept  along  with  a  slow  and  unremitting 

10  pace,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  patiently 
removing  every  stone  that  obstructed  his  way,  till  he  saw 
most  of  those  below  him  who  had  at  first  derided  his  slow 
and  toilsome  progress. 

Indeed,  there  were  few  who  ascended  the  hill  with  equal 

15  and  uninterrupted  steadiness ;  for,  besides  the  difficulties 
of  the  way,  they  were  continually  solicited  to  turn  aside, 
by  a  numerous  crowd  of  appetites,  passions  and  pleasures, 
whose  importunity,  when  once  complied  with,  they  became 
less  and  less  able  to  resist :  and  though  they  often  returned 

20  to  the  path,  the  asperities  of  the  road  were  more  severely 
felt ;  the  hill  appeared  more  steep  and  rugged ;  the  fruits, 
which  were  wholesome  and  refreshing,  seemed  harsh  and 
ill-tasted;  their  sight  grew  dim,  and  their  feet  tript  at 
every  little  obstruction. 

25  I  saw  with  some  surprise  that  the  Muses,  whose  busi- 
ness was  to  cheer  and  encourage  those  who  were  toiling 
up  the  ascent,  would  often  sing  in  the  bowers  of  Pleasure, 
and  accompany  those  who  were  enticed  away  at  the  call 
of  the  Passions.     They  accompanied  them,  however,  but 

30  a  little  way;  and  always  forsook  them  when  they  lost 
sight  of  the  hill.  The  tyrants  then  doubled  their  chains 
upon  the  unhappy  captives,  and  led  them  away,  without 
resistance,  to  the  cells  of  Ignorance,  or  the  mansions  of 
Misery. 

35  Amongst  the  innumerable  seducers  who  were  endeav- 
oring to  draw  away  the  votaries  of  Truth  from  the  path 
of  Science,  there  was  one,  so  little  formidable  in  her  ap- 
pearance, and  so  gentle  and  languid  in  her  attempts,  that 
I  should  scarcely  have   taken  notice  of  her,  but  for  the 

40  numbers  she  had  imperceptibly  loaded  with  her  chains. 
Indolence,  (for  so  she  was  called,)  far  from  proceeding  to 
open  hostilities,  did  not  attempt  to  turn  their  feet  out  of 
the  path,  but  contented  herself  with  retarding  their  pro- 
gress; and  the  purpose  she  could  not  force  them  to  aban- 

45  don,  she  persuaded  them  to  delay. 


EX.  XLVII.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  273 

Her  touch  had  a  power  like  that  of  the  torpedo,  which 
withered  the  strength  of  those  who  came  within  its  influ- 
ence. Her  unhappy  captives  still  turned  their  faces  tow- 
ards the  temple,  and  always  hoped  to  arrive  there  ;  but  the 

5  ground  seemed  to  slide  from  beneath  their  feet,  and  they 
found  themselves  at  the  bottom  before  they  suspected 
they  had  changed  their  place. 

••    The  placid  serenity  which  at  first  appeared  in  their 
countenance  changed  by  degrees  into  a  melancholy  lan- 

10  guor,  which  was  tinged  with  deeper  and  deeper  gloom  as 
they  glided  down  the  stream  of  Insignificance  ;  a  dark  and 
sluggish  water,  which  is  curled  by  no  breeze,  and  enlight- 
ened by  no  murmur,  till  it  falls  into  a  dead  sea,  where 
startled  passengers  are  awakened  by  the  shock,  and  the 

15  next  moment  buried  in  the  gulf  of  Oblivion. 

Of  all  the  unhappy  deserters  from  the  paths  of  Science, 
none  seemed  less  able  to  return  than  the  followers  of  Indo- 
lence. The  captives  of  Appetite  and  Passion  would  often 
seize  the  moment  when   their  tyrants  were  languid  or 

20  asleep,  to  escape  from  their  enchantment ;  but  the  domin- 
ion of  Indolence  was  constant  and  unremitted,  and  seldom 
resisted,  till  resistance  was  in  vain. 

After  contemplating  these  things,  I  turned  my  eyes  tow- 
ards the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  the  air  was  always 

25  pure  and  exhilarating,  the  path  shaded  with  laurels  and 

evergreens,  and  the  effulgence   which   beamed   from  the 

face  of  Science  seemed  to  shed  a  glory  round  her  votaries. 

Happy,  said  I,  are  they  who  are  permitted  to  ascend  the 

mountain  !     But  while  I  was  pronouncing  this  exclama- 

30  tion  with  uncommon  ardor,  I  saw,  standing  beside  me,  a 
form  of  diviner  features,  and  a  more  benign  radiance. 
"  Happier,"  said  she,  "  are  they  whom  Virtue  conducts  to 
the  mansions  of  Content !  " 

"  What !  "  said  I,  "  does  Virtue  then  reside  in  the  vale  ?" 

35  "  I  am  found,"  said  she,  "  in  the  vale,  and  I  illuminate  the 
mountain.  I  cheer  the  cottager  at  his  toil,  and  inspire  the 
sage  at  his  meditation.  I  mingle  in  the  crowd  of  cities, 
and  bless  the  hermit  in  his  cell.  I  have  a  temple  in  every 
heart  that  owns  my  influence,  and  to  him  that  wishes  for 

40  me  I  am  already  present.  Science  may  raise  thee  to  emi- 
nence ;  but  I  alone  can  guide  thee  to  felicity  !  " 

While  Virtue  was  thus  speaking,  I  stretched  out  my 
arms  towards  her,  with  a  vehemence  which  broke  my  slum- 
ber.    The  chill  dews  were  falling  around  me,  and  the 


274  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  XLvm. 

shades  of  evening  stretched  over  the  landscape.  I  hastened 
homeward,  and  resigned  the  night  to  silence  and  medita- 
tion.— Aikin. 


EXERCISE    XLVm. 

The  Passions.  —  An  Ode. 

When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young", 
6  While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 

The  passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell. 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell, 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
Possessed  beyond  the  Muse's  painting. 

10  By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 

Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined; 

Till  once,  't  is  said,  when  all  were  fired, 
Filled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired. 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 

15  They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound, 

And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 
Each  (for  madness  ruled  the  hour) 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

20  First  Fear,  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try, 

Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid ; 
And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why, 
Even  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 
Next  Anger  rushed :  his  eyes  on  fire, 

25  In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings : 

In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 
And  swept,  with  hurried  hands,  the  strings. 

With  woful  measures,  wan  Despair  — 
Low,  sullen  sounds  his  grief  beguiled  : 

30  A  solemn,  strange  and  mingled  air ; 

'Twas  sad  by  fits  —  by  starts  'twas  wild. 

But  thou,  O  Hope  !  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 

35  And  bade  the  lovely  scene  at  distance  hail ! 

Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong. 
And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 
She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  her  song 


EX.  XLVIII.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  275 

And  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 

A  soft,  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close : 

And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair. 
And  longer  had  she  sung  —  but,  with  a  frown, 
5  Revenge  impatient  rose. 

He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in  thunder  down ; 

And,  with  a  withering  look, 

The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took. 

And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread, 
10  Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe  : 
And  ever  and  anon  he  beat 

The  doubling  drum,  with  furious  heat ; 

And  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between, 

Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side, 
15  Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied. 

Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild,  unaltered  mien ; 

While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  bursting  Irom 
his  head. 
Thy  numbers.  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fixed ; 
20  Sad  proofs  of  thy  distressful  state. 

Of  diiTerent  themes  the  veering  song  was  mixed : 

And  now,  it  courted  Love ;  now,  raving,  called  on  Hate. 
With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 

Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired; 
25  And  from  her  wild  sequestered  seat, 

In  notes  by  distance  made. more  sweet. 

Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul. 
And  dashing  soft,  from  rocks  around, 

Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound ; 
30  Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole, 

Or  o'er  some  haunted  streams,  with  fond  delay, 

(Round  a  holy  calm  diffusing. 

Love  of  peace  and  lonely  musing,) 

In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 
35       But,  O,  how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone, 

When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue, 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  slung. 

Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspiring  air  that  dale  and  thicket  rung. 
40  The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known. 

The  oak-crowned  Sisters,  and  their  chaste-eyed  queen, 

Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys,  were  seen. 

Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green : 

Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  Lear ; 
45  And  Sport  leapt  up  and  seized  his  beechen  spear. 


276  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xux. 

Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial ; 
He,  with  viny  crown  advancing, 
First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addressed; 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol, 
6  Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best. 

They  would  have  thought  who  heard  the  strain 
They  saw  in  Tempo's  vale  her  native  maids, 
Amid  the  festal-sounding  shades. 
To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing ; 
10  While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings. 

Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round, 
(Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound,) 
And  he,  amidst  his  frolic  play. 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 
15  Shook  thousand  odors  from  his  dewy  wings. 

Collins. 


EXERCISE    XLIX. 

Adaptation  of  Christianity  to  the  Intellectiial  Wants  of  Man. 

Christianity  is  adapted  to  the  intellect,  because  it  puts 
it  in  possession  of  a  higher  kind  of  knowledge  than  nature 
can  give.  It  solves  questions  of  a  different  order,  and 
those,  too,  which  man,  as  an  intellectual  being,  most  needs 

20  to  have  solved. 

There  are  plainly  two  classes  of  questions  which  we 
may  ask  concerning  the  works  of  God ;  and  concerning 
one  of  these  philosophy  is  profoundly  silent.  One  class 
respects  the  relation  of  the  difierent  parts  of  a  constituted 

25  whole  to  each  other  and  to  that  whole.  '  The  other  respects 
the  ultimate  design  of  the  whole  itself. 

In  the  present  state  of  science,  questions  of  the  first  class 
can  generally  be  answered  with  a  good  degree  of  satisfac- 
tion.    Man  existing,  the  philosopher  can  tell  the  number 

30  of  bones,  and  muscles,  and  blood-vessels,  and  nerves,  in 
his  body,  and  the  uses  of  all  these.  He  may,  perhaps,  tell 
how  the  stomach  digests,  and  the  heart  beats,  and  the 
glands  secrete ;  but  of  the  great  purpose  for  which  man 
himself  was  made  he  can  know  nothing. 

35  But  this  knowledge  Christianity  gives.  It  attributes  to 
God  a  purpose  worthy  of  him  ;  one  that  satisfies  the 
intellect  and  the  heart ;  and  the  knowledge  of  this  must 
modify  our  views  of  all  history,  and  of  the  whole  drama 


KX.  XLIX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  277 

of  human  life.  It  gives  us  a  new  stand-point,  from  which 
we  see  everything  in  different  relations  and  proportions. 
We  had  seen  the  river  before  on  which  we  were  sailing; 
now  we  see  the  ocean. 
5  Entirely  different  must  be  the  relation  of  man  to  God, 
both  as  an  intellectual  and  a  practical  being,  when  he 
knows  his  plans  and  can  intelligently  cooperate  with  him. 
He  now  comes,  in  the  language  of  our  Saviour,  into  the 
relation  of  a  friend.     Surely  no  one  can  think  lightly  of 

10  the  influence  of  this  on  the  intellect. 

From  the  arguments  now  stated  we  infer  that  Chris- 
tianity is  adapted  to  the  intellect;  and  these  arguments  are 
confirmed  by  fact.  No  book,  not  nature  itself,  has  ever 
waked  up  intellectual  activity  like  the  Bible.     On  the  bat- 

15  tie-field  of  truth,  it  has  ever  been  around  this  that  the  con- 
flict has  raged.  What  book  besides  ever  caused  the  writing 
of  so  many  other  books  ?  Take  from  the  libraries  of  Chris- 
tendom all  those  which  have  sprung,  I  will  not  say  indi- 
rectly, but  directly,  from  it,  —  those  written  to  oppose,  or 

20  defend,  or  elucidate  it,  —  and  how  would  they  be  dimin- 
ished I 

The  very  multitude  of  infidel  books  is  a  witness  to  the 
power  with  which  the  Bible  stimulates  the  intellect.  Why 
do  we  not  see  the  same  amount  of  active  intellect  coming  up 

25  and  dashing  and  roaring  around  the  Koran  ?  And  the  result 
of  this  activity  is  such  as  we  might  anticipate.  The  gen- 
eral intellectual,  as  well  as  moral,  superiority  of  Christian 
nations,  and  that,  too,  in  proportion  as  they  have  had  a 
pure  Christianity,  stands  out  in  too  broad  a  sunlight  to  be 

30  questioned  or  obscured. 

Wherever  the  word  of  God  has  really  entered,  it  has 
given  light  —  light  to  individuals,  light  to  communities. 
It  has  favored  literature  ;  and  by  means  of  it  alone  has 
society  been  brought  up  to  that  point  at  which  it  has  been 

35  able  to  construct  the  apparatus  of  physical  science,  and  to 
carry  its  investigations  to  the  point  which  they  have  now 
reached. 

The  instruments  of  a  well-furnished  astronomical  observ- 
atory presuppose  accumulations  of  wealth,  and  the  exist- 

40  ence  of  a  class  of  arts,  and  of  men,  that  could  be  the  prod- 
uct only  of  Christian  civilization.  Accordingly,  we  find, 
whatever  may  be  said  of  literature,  that  physical  science, 
except  in  Christian  countries,  has  after  a  time  either  be- 
come stationary,  or  begun  to  recede ;  and  there  is  no  rea- 
24 


278  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  l. 

son  for  supposing  that  the  path  of  indefinite  progress 
which  now  Jies  before  it  could  have  been  opened  except  in 
connection  with  Christianity. 

Individual  men,  who  reject  Christianity,  and  yet  live 

5  within  the  general  sphere  of  its  influence,  may  distinguish 

themselves  in  science  ;  they  have  done  so ;  but  it  has  been 

on  grounds  and  conditions  furnished  by  that  very  religion 

which  they  have  rejected. 

Christianity  furnishes  no  new  faculties,  no  direct  power 

10  to  the  intellect,  but  a  general  condition  of  society  favorable 
to  its  cultivation ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  if,  in 
such  a  state  of  things,  men  who  seek  intellectual  distinc- 
tion solely,  rejecting  the  moral  restraints  of  Christianity, 
should  distinguish  themselves  by  intellectual  effort. 

15  But  if  there  is  this  adaptation  of  Christianity  to  the  in- 
tellect, ought  not  they  who  are  truly  Christians  to  distin- 
guish themselves  above  others  in  literature  and  science  ? 
This  does  not  follow.  Up  to  a  certain  point,  Christianity 
in  the  heart  will  certainly  give  clearness  and  strength  to 

20  the  intellect ;  and  cases  are  not  wanting  in  which  the  in- 
tellectual powers  have  been  surprisingly  roused  through 
the  action  of  the  moral  nature,  and  of  the  affections, 
awakened  by  the  religion  of  Christ. 

But  when  we  consider  that  the  change  produced  by 

25  Christianity  is  a  moral  change  ;  that  the  objects  it  presents 
are  moral  objects ;  that  it  presents  this  world  as  needing 
not  so  much  to  be  enlightened  in  the  more  abstract  sci- 
ences, or  to  be  delighted  with  the  refinements  of  literature, 
as  to  be  rescued  from  moral  pollution,  and  to  be  won  back 

30  to  God  ;  —  perhaps  we  ought  not  to  be  surprised  if  it  has 
caused  many  to  be  absorbed  in  labors  of  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent kind,  who  would  otherwise  have  trodden  the  high- 
est walks  of  science.  —  Presidejit  Hopkins. 


EXERCISE  L. 

Hymn  on  the  Seasons. 

These,  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father,  these 
35     Are  but  the  varied  God.     The  rolling  year 

Is  full  of  Thee.     Forth  in  the  pleasing  Spring 
Thy  beauty  walks,  Thy  tenderness,  and  love. 
Wide  flush  the  fields ;  the  softening  air  is  balm ; 


EX.  L.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  279 

Echo  the  mountains  round :  the  forest  smiles ; 

And  every  sense  and  every  heart  is  joy. 

Then  comes  Thy  glory  "in  the  Summer  months, 

With  light  and  heat  refulgent.     Then  Thy  sun 
5     Shoots  full  perfection  through  the  swelling  year : 

And  oft  Thy  voice  in  dreadful  thunder  speaks ; 

And  oft  at  dawn,  deep  noon,  or  falling  eve, 

By  brooks  and  groves,  in  hollow-whispering  gales, 

Thy  bounty  shines  in  Autumn  unconfined, 
10     And  spreads  a  common  feast  for  all  that  live. 

In  Winter  awful  Thou,  with  clouds  and  storms 

Around  Thee  thrown,  tempest  o'er  tempest  rolled. 

Majestic  darkness  !  on  the  whirlwind's  wing. 

Riding  sublime,  Thou  bidst  the  world  adore, 
15     And  humblest  Nature  with  Thy  northern  blast. 

Mysterious  round !  what  skill,  what  force  divine, 

Deep  felt,  in  these  appear !  a  simple  train, 

Yet  so  delightful  mixed,  with  such  kind  art, 

Such  beauty  and  beneficence  combined ; 
20     Shade,  unperceived,  so  softening  into  shade ; 

And  all  so  forming  an  harmonious  whole. 

That,  as  they  still  succeed,  they  ravish  still. 

But  wandering  oft,  with  brute  unconscious  gaze, 

Man  marks  not  Thee,  marks  not  the  mighty  hand, 
25     That,  ever  busy,  wheels  the  silent  sphere  ; 

Works  in  the  secret  deep :  shoots,  steaming,  thence 

The  fair  profusion  that  o'erspreads  the  Spring ; 

Flings  from  the  sun  direct  the  flaming  day ; 

Feeds  every  creature ;  hurls  the  tempest  forth ; 
30     And,  as  on  earth  this  grateful  change  revolves, 

With  transport  touches  all  the  springs  of  life. 
Nature,  attend !  join,  every  living  soul 

Beneath  the  spacious  temple  of  the  sky, 

In  adoration  join ;  and,  ardent,  raise 
35     One  general  song !     To  Him,  ye  vocal  gales. 

Breathe  soft,  whose  spirit  in  your  freshness  breathes 

O,  talk  of  Him  in  solitary  glooms ! 

Where,  o'er  the  rock,  the  scarcely  waving  pine 

Fills  the  brown  shade  with  a  religious  awe. 
40         And  ye,  whose  bolder  note  is  heard  afar. 

Who  shake  the  astonished  world,  lift  high  to  heaven 

The  impetuous  song,  and  say  from  whom  you  rage. 

His  praise,  ye  brooks,  attune,  ye  trembling  rills ; 

And  let  me  catch  it  as  I  muse  along. 


280  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  i 

Ye  headlong  torrents,  rapid  and  profound ; 
Ye  softer  floods,  that  lead  the  humid  maze 
Along-  the  vale  ;  and  thou,  majestic  main, 
A  secret  world  of  wonders  in  thyself,  — 
5     Sound  His  stupendous  praise  :  whose  greater  voice 
Or  bids  you  roar  or  bids  your  roarings  fall. 

Soft  roll  your  incense,  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowers, 
In  mingled  clouds  to  Him ;  whose  sun  exalts, 
Whose  breath  perfumes  you,  and  whose  pencil  paints. 

10     Ye  forests,  bend  ;  ye  harvests,  wave  to  Him ; 
Breathe  your  still  song  into  the  reaper's  heart, 
As  home  he  goes  beneath  the  joyous  moon. 

Ye  that  keep  watch  in  heaven,  as  earth  asleep 
Unconscious  lies,  eflfase  your  mildest  beams, 

15     Ye  constellations,  while  your  angels  strike. 
Amid  the  spangled  sky,  the  silver  lyre. 

Great  source  of  day !  best  image  here  below 
Of  thy  Creator,  ever  pouring  wide. 
From  world  to  world,  the  vital  ocean  round, 

20     On  Nature  write  with  every  beam  His  praise. 

The  thunder  rolls :  be  hushed  the  prostrate  world 
While  cloud  to  cloud  returns  the  solemn  hymn. 
Bleat  out  afresh,  ye  hills ;  ye  mossy  rocks. 
Retain  the  sound  :  the  broad  responsive  lowe, 

25     Ye  valleys,  raise ;  for  the  Great  Shepherd  reigns. 
And  his  linsuflfering  kingdom  yet  will  come. 

Ye  woodlands  all,  awake :  a  boundless  song 
Bursts  from  the  groves !  and  when  the  restless  day, 
Expiring,  lays  the  warbling  world  asleep, 

30     Sweetest  of  birds  !  sweet  Philomela,  charm 

The  listening  shades,  and  teach  the  night  His  praise. 

Ye  chief,  for  whom  the  whole  creation  smiles. 
At  once  the  head,  the  heart,  and  tongue  of  all, 
Crown  the  great  hymn ;  in  swarming  cities  vast, 

35     Assembled  men,  to  the  deep  organ  join 

The  long-resounding  voice,  oft  breaking  clear, 
At  solemn  pauses,  through  the  swelling  base ; 
And,  as  each  mingling  flame  increases  each, 
In  one  united  ardor  rise  to  heaven. 

40         Or,  if  you  rather  choose  the  rural  shade, 
And  find  a  fane  in  every  sacred  grove, 
There  let  the  shepherd's  flute,  the  virgin's  lay. 
The  prompting  seraph,  and  the  poet's  lyre. 
Still  sing  the  God  of  Seasons  as  they  roll. 


EX.  ll]  rhetorical  reading.  281 

For  me,  when  I  forget  the  darling  theme,  — 
Whether  the  blossom  blows,  the  summer  ray 
Russets  the  plain,  inspiring  Autumn  gleams, 
Or  Winter  rises  in  the  blackening  east,  — 
5     Be  my  tongue  mute,  my  fancy  paint  no  more, 
And,  dead  to  joy,  forget  my  heart  to  beat ! 

Should  fate  command  me  to  the  furthest  verge 
Of  the  green  earth,  to  distant  barbarous  climes, 
Rivers  unknown  to  song ;  where  first  the  sun 

10     Gilds  Indian  mountains,  or  his  setting  beam 

Flames  on  the  Atlantic  isles ;  't  is  nought  to  me ; 

Since  God  is  ever  present,  ever  felt, 

In  the  void  waste  as  in  the  city  full : 

And  where  He  vital  breathes  there  must  be  joy. 

15         When  even  at  last  the  solemn  hour  shall  come, 
And  wing  my  mystic  flight  to  future  worlds, 
I  cheerful  will  obey ;  there,  with  new  powers. 
Will  rising  wonders  sing.     I  cannot  go 
Where  Universal  Love  not  smiles  around, 

20     Sustaining  all  yon  orbs,  and  all  their  suns ; 
From  seeming  Evil  still  educing  Good, 
And  better  thence  again,  and  better  still, 
In  infinite  progression.     But  I  lose 
Myself  in  Him,  in  Light  ineflJable ! 

25     Come  then,  expressive  Silence,  muse  His  praise. 

Thomson. 


EXERCISE  LI. 
The  Blind  Man  restored  to  Sight, 

[From  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  Chap.  9.] 

And  as  Jesus  passed  by,  he  saw  a  man  which  was  blind 
from  his  birth.  And  his  disciples  asked  him,  saying, 
Master,  who  did  sin,  this  man,  or  his  parents,  that  he  was 
bom  blind  ? 
30  Jesus  answered,  Neither  hath  this  man  sinned,  nor  his 
parents :  but  that  the  works  of  God  should  be  made  man- 
ifest in  him.  I  must  work  the  works  of  him  that  sent 
me,  while  it  is  day :  the  night  cometh  when  no  man  can 
work.  As  long  as  I  am  in  the  world,  I  am  the  light  of 
35  the  world. 

When  he  had  thus  spoken,  he  spat  on  the  ground,  and 
made  clay  of  the  spittle,  and  he  anointed  the  eyes  of  the 
2^* 


282  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  li. 

blind  man  with  the  clay,  and  said  unto  him,  Go,  wash  in 
the  pool  of  Siloam,  (which  is,  by  interpretation,  Sent.) 
He  went  his  way,  therefore,  and  washed,  and  came  seeing. 
The  neighbors,  therefore,  and  they  which  before  had 
5  seen  him  that  he  was  blind,  said,  Is  not  this  he  that  sat 
and  begged  ?  Some  said,  This  is  he  :  others  said,  He  is 
like  him  :  but  he  said,  I  am  he. 

Therefore  said  they  unto  him,  How  were  thine  eyes 
opened?     He  answered  and  said,  A  man  that  is  called 

10  Jesus  made  clay,  and  anointed  mine  eyes,  and  said  unto 
me.  Go  te  the  pool  of  Siloam,  and  wash  :  and  I  went  and 
washed,  and  I  received  sight.  Then  said  they  unto  him, 
Where  is  he  ?     He  said,  I  know  not. 

They  brought  to  the  Pharisees  him  that  aforetime  was 

15  blind.  And  it  was  the  Sabbath-day  when  Jesus  made  the 
clay,  and  opened  his  eyes.  Then  again  the  Pharisees 
also  asked  him  how  he  had  received  his  sight.  He  said 
unto  them.  He  put  clay  upon  mine  eyes,  and  I  washed, 
and  do  see.     Therefore  said  some  of  the  Pharisees,  This 

20  man  is  not  of  God,  because  he  keepeth  not  the  Sabbath- 
day.  Others  said,  How  can  a  man  that  is  a  sinner  do 
such  miracles  ? 

And  there  was  a  division  among  them.  They  say  unto 
the  blind  man  again,  What  sayest  thou  of  him,  that  he 

25  hath  opened  thine  eyes  ?     He  said.  He  is  a  prophet. 

But  the  Jews  did  not  believe  concerning  him,  that  he 
had  been  blind,  and  received  his  sight,  until  they  called 
the  parents  of  him  that  had  received  his  sight.  And  they 
asked  them,  saying.  Is  this  your  son,  whom  ye  say  was 

30  born  blind?  How  then  doth  he  now  see  ?  His  parents 
answered  them  and  said.  We  know  that  this  is  our  son, 
and  that  he  was  born  blind :  but  by  what  means  he  now 
seeth,  we  know  not;  or  who  hath  opened  his  eyes,  we 
know  not :   he  is  of  age,  ask  him :  he  shall  speak  for 

35  himself. 

These  words  spake  his  parents,  because  they  feared  the 
Jews :  for  the  Jews  had  agreed  already,  that  if  any  man 
did  confess  that  he  was  Christ,  he  should  be  put  out  of  the 
synagogue.     Therefore  said  his  parents.  He  is  of  age; 

40  ask  him. 

Then  again  called  they  the  man  that  was  blind,  and 
said  unto  him.  Give  God  the  praise ;  we  know  that  this 
man  is  a  sinner.  He  answered  and  said.  Whether  he  be 
a  sinner  or  no,  I  know  not :  one  thing  I  know,  that,  where- 

45  as  I  was  blind,  now  I  see. 


BZ.  Ln.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  283 

Then  said  they  to  him  again,  What  did  he  to  thee? 
How  opened  he  thine  eyes?  He  answered  them,  I  have 
told  you  already,  and  ye  did  not  hear :  wherefore  would 
ye  hear  it  again  ?  will  ye  also  be  his  disciples  ?  Then 
5  they  reviled  him,  and  said,  Thou  art  his  disciple ;  but  we 
are  Moses'  disciples.  We  know  that  God  spake  unto 
Moses ;  as  for  this  fellow,  we  know  not  from  whence  he  is. 
The  man  answered  and  said  unto  them.  Why,  herein  is 
a  marvellous  thing,  that  ye  know  not  from  whence  he  is, 

10  and  yet  he  hath  opened  mine  eyes.  Now  we  know  that 
God  heareth  not  sinners:  but  if  any  man  be  a  worshipper 
of  God,  and  doeth  his  will,  him  he  heareth.  Since  the 
world  began  was  it  not  heard  that  any  man  opened  the 
eyes  of  one  that  was  born  blind.     If  this  man  were  not 

15  of  God,  he  could  do  nothing. 

They  answered  and  said  unto  him,  Thou  wast  altogeth- 
er born  in  sins,  and  dost  thou  teach  us  ?  And  they  cast 
him  out.  Jesus  heard  that  they  had  cast  him  out :  and 
when  he  had  found  him,  he  said  unto  him.  Dost  thou  be- 

20  lieve  on  the  Son  of  God  ?  He  answered  and  said,  Who 
is  he,  Lord,  that  I  might  believe  on  him  ?  And  Jesus  said 
unto  him.  Thou  hast  both  seen  him,  and  it  is  he  that 
talketh  with  thee.  And  he  said,  Lord,  I  believe.  And 
he  worshipped  him. 

25  And^  Jesus  said,  For  judgment  I  am  come  into  this 
world ;  that  they  which  see  not  might  see,  and  that  they 
which  see  might  be  made  blind.  And  some  of  the  Phar- 
isees which  were  with  him  heard  these  words,  and  said 
unto  him.  Are  we  blind  also  ?     Jesus  said  unto  them,  If 

30  ye  were  blind,  ye  should  have  no  sin :  but  now  ye  say, 
We  see ;  therefore  your  sin  remaineth. 


EXERCISE   Ln. 
Picture  of  a  Distinguished  Poet. 

Admire  the  goodness  of  Almighty  God ! 
He  riches  gave.  He  intellectual  strength 
To  few,  and  therefore  none  commands  to  be 
35     Or  rich,  or  learned  ;  nor  promises  reward 
Of  peace  to  these.     On  ail  He  moral  worth 
Bestowed ;  and  moral  tribute  asked  from  all. 

And  who  that  could  not  pay  ?  who  born  so  poor. 


284  Parker's  lessons  in  [ex.  ui 

Of  intellect  so  mean,  as  not  to  know 

What  seemed  the  best ;  and,  knowing,  might  not  do  ? 

As  not  to  know  what  God  and  conscience  bade, 

And  what  they  bade  not  able  to  obey  ? 
5         And  he  who  acted  thus  fulfilled  the  law 

Eternal,  and  its  promise  reaped  of  peace  ; 

Found  peace  this  way  alone  :  who  sought  it  else, 

Sought  mellow  grapes  beneath  .the  icy  pole ; 

Sought  blooming  roses  on  the  cheek  of  death ; 
10     Sought  substance  in  a  world  of  fleeting  shades. 
Take  one  example  ;  to  our  purpose  quite. 

A  man  of  rank,  and  of  capacious  soul ; 

Who  riches  had,  and  fame  beyond  desire ; 

An  heir  of  flattery,  to  titles  born, 
15     And  reputation,  and  luxurious  life. 

Yet,  not  content  with  ancestorial  name, 

Or  to  be  known  because  his  fathers  were, 

He  on  this  height  hereditary  stood. 

And  gazing  higher,  purposed  in  his  heart 
20     To  take  another  step. 

Above  him  seemed 

Alone  the  mount  of  song  —  the  lofty  seat 

Of  canonized  bards ;  and  thitherward. 

By  nature  taught,  and  inward  melody, 
25     In  prime  of  youth  he  bent  his  eagle  eye. 

No  cost  was  spared.     What  books  he  wished,  he  read 

What  sage  to  hear,  he  heard  ;  what  scenes  to  see, 

He  saw.     And  first,  in  rambling  school-boy  days, 

Britannia's  mountain-walks,  and  heath-girt  lakes, 
30     And  story-telling  glens,  and  founts,  and  brooks ; 

And  maids,  as  dew-drops  pure  and  fair,  his  soul 

With  grandeur  filled,  and  melody  and  love. 

Then  travel  came,  and  took  him  where  he  wished ; 

He  cities  saw,  and  courts,  and  princely  pomp ; 
35     And  mused  alone  on  ancient  mountain  brows  ; 

And  mused  on  battle-fields,  where  valor  fought 

In  other  days ;  and  mused  on  ruins  gray 

With  years  ;  and  drank  from  old  and  fabulous  wells. 

And  plucked  the  vine  that  first-born  prophets  plucked, 
40     And  mused  on  famous  tombs ;  and  on  the  wave 

Of  ocean  mused  ;  and  on  the  desert  waste. 

The  heavens  and  earth  of  every  country  saw : 

Where'er  the  old  inspiring  Genii  dwelt, 

Aught  that  could  rouse,  expand,  refine  the  soul, 
45    Thither  he  went,  and  meditated  there. 


EX.  LU.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  285 

He  touched  his  harp,  and  nations  heard,  entranced. 
As  some  vast  river  of  unfailing  source, 
Rapid,  exhaustless,  deep,  his  numbers  flowed, 
And  oped  new  fountains  in  the  human  heart. 
5  Where  fancy  halted,  weary  in  her  flight. 
In  other  men,  his  fresh  as  morning  rose. 
And  sgared  untrodden  heights,  and  seemed  at  home, 
Where  angels  bashful  looked. 

Others,  though  great, 

10  Beneath  their  argument  seemed  struggling ;  whiles 
He,  from  above  descending,  stooped  to  touch 
The  loftiest  thought ;  and  proudly  stooped,  as  though 
It  scarce  deserved  his  verse. 

With  Nature's  self 

15  He  seemed  an  old  acquaintance,  free  to  jest 
At  will  with  all  her  glorious  majesty. 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  "  the  ocean's  mane,"=^ 
And  played  familiar  with  his  hoary  locks. 
Stood  on  the  Alps,  stood  on  the  Appenines, 

20  And  with  the  thunder  talked,  as  friend  to  friend ; 
And  wove  his  garland  of  the  lightning's  wing, 
In  sportive  twist  —  the  lightning's  fierj'^  wing, 
Which  as  the  footsteps  of  the  dreadful  God, 
Marching  upon  the  storm  in  vengeance  seemed  — 

25  Then  turned,  and  with  the  grasshopper,  who  sung 
His  evening  song  beneath  his  feet,  conversed. 

Suns,  moons  and  stars,  and  clouds,  his  sisters  were ; 
Rocks,  mountains,  meteors,  seas,  and  winds  and  storms. 
His  brothers  —  younger  brothers,  whom  he  scarce 

30  As  equals  deemed. 

All  passions  of  all  men  — 
The  wild  and  tame,  the  gentle  and  severe ; 
All  thoughts,  all  maxims,  sacred  and  profane  ; 
All  creeds;  all  seasons,  Time,  Eternity; 

35  All  that  was  hated,  and  all  that  was  dear; 

All  that  was  hoped,  all  that  was  feared  by  man,  — 
He  tossed  about,  as  tempest-withered  leaves. 
Then  smiling,  looked  upon  the  wreck  he  made. 
With  terror  now  he  froze  the  cowering  blood ; 

40  And  now  dissolved  the  heart  in  tenderness  : 

Yet  would  not  tremble,  would  not  weep,  himself; 

*  This  allusion  to  a  line  of  Lord  Byron's  Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean  plainly 
indicates  that  the  poet  had  h.im  clearly  in  view,  in  this  description.  The  sub- 
sequent lines  also  allude  to  passages  in  "Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage." 


286  Parker's  lessons  in  [ex.  mi 

But  back  into  his  soul  retired,  alone, 

Dark,  sullen,  proud  :  gazing  contemptuously 

On  hearts  and  passions  prostrate  at  his  feet. 

So  Ocean  from  the  plains,  his  waves  had  late 
5  To  desolation  swept,  retired  in  pride, 

Exulting  in  the  glory  of  his  might, 

And  seemed  to  mock  the  ruin  he  had  wrought.  ^ 
As  some  fierce  comet  of  tremendous  size. 

To  which  the  stars  did  reverence  as  it  passed, 
10  So  he  through  learning,  and  through  fancy,  took 

His  flight  sublime  ;  and  on  the  loftiest  top 

Of  Fame's  dread  mountain  sat :  not  soiled  and  worn, 

As  if  he  from  the  earth  had  labored  up — 

But  as  some  bird  of  heavenly  plumage  fair 
15  He  looked,  which  down  from  higher  regions  came, 

And  perched  it  there,  to  see  what  lay  beneath. 

The  nations  gazed,  and  wondered  much,  and  praised. 

Critics  before  him  fell  in  humble  plight ; 

Confounded  fell,  and  made  debasing  signs 
20  To  catch  his  eye ;  and  stretched  and  swelled  themselves 

To  bursting  nigh,  to  utter  bulky  words 

Of  admiration  vast :  and  many  too. 

Many  that  aimed  to  imitate  his  flight, 

With  weaker  wing,  unearthly  fluttering  made, 
25  And  gave  abundant  sport  to  after  days. 

Great  man  !  the  nations  gazed,  and  wondered  much 

And  praised :  and  many  called  his  evil  good. 

Wits  wrote  in  favor  of  his  wickedness  ; 

And  kings  to  do  him  honor  took  delight. 
30       Thus,  full  of  titles,  flattery,  honor,  fame,  — 

Beyond  desire,  beyond  ambition,  full, — 

He  died  —  he  died  of  what  ?     Of  wretchedness ! 

Drank  every  cup  of  joy,  heard  every  trump 

Of  fame ;  drank  early,  deeply  drank;  drank  draughts 
35  That  common  millions  might  have  quenched  —  then  died 

Of  thirst,  because  there  was  no  more  to  drink. 

His  goddess.  Nature  —  wooed,  embraced,  enjoyed  — 

Fell  from  his  arms  abhorred ;  his  passions  died ; 

Died  all  but  dreary,  solitary  pride  : 
40  And  all  his  sympathies  in  being  died. 

As  some  ill-guided  bark,  well  built  and  tall, 

Which  angry  tides  cast  out  on  desert  shore. 

And  then,  retiring,  left  it  there  to  rot 

And  moulder  in  the  winds  and  rains  of  heaven : 


EX.  Llll.]  RHETORICAL   REAiJu*  j  287 

So  he,  cut  from  the  sympathies  of  life, 

And  cast  ashore  from  Pleasure's  boisterous  surge  — 

A  wandering,  weary,  worn,  and  wretched  thing; 

Scorched  and  desolate,  and  blasted  soul ; 
5  A  gloomy  wilderness  of  dying  thought  — 

Repined,  and  groaned,  and  withered  from  the  earth. 

His  groanings  filled  the  land  his  numbers  filled: 

And  yet  he  seemed  ashamed  to  groan.     Poor  man ! 

Ashamed  to  ask,  and  yet  he  needed  help. 
10       Proof  this,  beyond  all  lingering  of  doubt, 

That  not  with  natural  or  mental  wealth 

Was  God  delighted,  or  his  peace  secured : 

That  not  in  natural  or  mental  wealth 

Was  human  happiness  or  grandeur  found. 
15  Attempt  how  monstrous !  and  how  surely  vain ! 

With  things  of  earthly  sort,  with  aught  but  God, 

With  aught  but  moral  excellence,  truth  and  love, 

To  satisfy  and  fill  the  immortal  soul ! 

Attempt,  vain  inconceivably !  attempt 
20  To  satisfy  the  ocean  with  a  drop ; 

To  marry  Immortality  to  Death ; 

And  with  the  unsubstantial  shade  of  Time 

To  fill  the  embrace  of  all  Eternity ! 

Pollock's  Course  of  Titm, 


EXERCISE  Lin. 

The  Grotto  of  Antiparos. 

Of  all  the  subterraneous  caverns  now  known,  the  grotto 
25  of  Antiparos  is  the  most  remarkable,  as  well  for  its  extent 
as  for  the  beauty  of  its  sparry  incrustations.     This  cele- 
brated cavern  was  first  explored  by  one  Magni,  an  Italian 
traveller,  about  one  hundred  years  ago,  at  Antiparos,  an 
inconsiderable  island  of  the  Archipelago. 
30       "  Having  been  informed,"  says  he,  "  by  the  natives  of 
Paros,  that,  in  the  little  island  of  Antiparos,  which  lies 
about  two  miles  from  the  former,  a  gigantic  statue  was  to 
be  seen  at  the  mouth  of  a  cavern  in  that  place,  it  was  re- 
solved that  we  (the  French  consul  and  himself)  should 
35  pay  it  a  visit. 

"  In  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  after  we  had  landed 


288  Parker's  lessons  in  [ex.  lui. 

on  the  island,  and  walked  about  four  miles  through  the 
midst  of  beautiful  plains,  and  sloping  woodlands,  we  at 
length  came  to  a  little  hill,  on  the  side  of  which  yawned  a 
most  horrid  cavern,  which,  by  its  gloom,  at  first  struck  us 
5  with  terror,  and  almost  repressed  curiosity.  Kecovering 
the  first  surprise,  however,  we  entered  boldly,  and  had  not 
proceeded  above  twenty  paces,  when  the  supposed  statue 
of  the  giant  presented  itself  to  our  view. 

"  We  quickly  perceived  that  what  the  ignorant  natives 

10  had  been  terrified  at  as  a  giant  was  nothing  more  than  a 
sparry  concretion,  formed  by  the  water  dropping  from  the 
roof  of  the  cave,  and  by  degrees  hardening  into  a  figure, 
which  their  fears  had  formed  into  a  monster.  Incited  by 
this  extraordinary  appearance,  we  were  induced  to  proceed 

15  still  further,  in  quest  of  new  adventures,  in  this  subterra- 
nean abode. 

"  As  we  proceeded,  new  wonders  offered  themselves ;  the 
spars,  formed  into  trees  and  shrubs,  presented  a  kind  of 
petrified  grove ;  some  white,  some  green ;  and  all  reced- 

20  ing  in  due  perspective.     They  struck  us  with  the  more 
amazement,  as  we  knew  them  to  be  mere  productions  of 
nature,  who,  hitherto  in  solitude,  had,  in  her  playful  mo- 
ments, dressed  the  scene  as  if  for  her  own  amusement. 
"  We  had  as  yet  seen  but  a  few  of  the  wonders  of  the 

25  place  ;  and  we  were  introduced  only  into  the  portico  of 
this  amazing  temple.  In  one  corner  of  this  half-illumin- 
ated recess,  there  appeared  an  opening  of  about  three  feet 
wide,  which  seemed  to  lead  to  a  place  totally  dark,  and 
which  one  of  the  natives  assured  us  contained  nothing 

30  more  than  a  reservoir  of  water. 

"  Upon  this  information,  we  made  an  experiment,  by 
throwing  down  some  stones,  which  rumbling  along  the 
sides  of  the  descent  for  some  time,  the  sound  seemed  at 
last  quashed  in  a  bed  of  water.     In  order,  however,  to  be 

35  more  certain,  we  sent  in  a  Levantine  mariner,  who,  by 
the  promise  of  a  good  reward,  ventured,  with  a  flambeau 
in  his  hand,  into  this  narrow  aperture. 

"  After  continuing  within  it  for  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  he  returned,  bearing  in  his  hand  some  beautiful  pieces 

40  of  white  spar,  which  art  could  neither  equal  nor  imitate. 
Upon  being  informed  by  him  that  the  place  was  full  of 
these  beautiful  incrustations,  I  ventured  in  with  him,  about 
fifty  paces,  anxiously  and  cautiously  descending,  by  a  steep 
and  dangerous  way. 


EX.  LIII.J  RHETORICAL   READING.  289 

"Finding,  however,  that  we  came  to  a  precipice  which 
led  into  a  spacious  amphitheatre,  (if  I  may  so  call  it,)  still 
deeper  than  any  other  part,  we  returned,  and  b^ing  pro- 
vided with  a  ladder,  flambeau,  and  other  things  to  expedite 

5  our  descent,  our  whole  company,  man  by  man,  ventured 
into  the  same  opening ;  and,  descending  one  after  another, 
we  at  last  saw  ourselves  all  together  in  the  most  magnifi- 
cent part  of  the  cavern. 

"Our  candles  being  now  all  lighted  up,  and  the  whole 

10  place  completely  illuminated,  never  could  the  eye  be  pre- 
sented with  a  more  glittering  or  a  more  magnificent  scene. 
The  whole  roof  hung  with  solid  icicles,  transparent  as 
glass,  yet  solid  as  marble. 

"  The  eye  could  scarcely  reach  the  lofty  and  noble  ceil- 

15  ing ;  the  sides  were  regularly  formed  with  spars  ;  and  the 
whole  presented  the  idea  of  a  magnificent  theatre,  illum- 
inated with  an  immense  profusion  of  lights.  The  floor 
consisted  of  solid  marble  ;  and,  in  several  places,  magnifi- 
cent columns,  thrones,  altars,  and  other  objects,  appeared, 

20  as  if  nature  had  designed  to  mock  the  curiosities  of  art. 

"  Our  voices,  upon  speaking  or  singing,  were  redoubled 
to  an  astonishing  loudness ;  and  upon  the  firing  of  a  gun, 
the  noise  and  reverberations  were  almost  deafening.  In 
the  midst  of  this  grand  amphitheatre  rose  a  concretion  of 

25  about  fifteen  feet  high,  that,  in  some  measure,  resembled 
an  altar ;  from  which,  taking  the  hint,  we  caused  mass  to 
be  celebrated  there.  The  beautiful  columns  that  shot  up 
round  the  altar  appeared  like  candlesticks;  and  many 
other  natural  objects  represented  the  customary  ornaments 

30  of  this  rite. 

"  Below  even  this  spacious  grotto,  there  seemed  another 
cavern  ;  down  which  I  ventured,  with  my  former  mariner, 
and  descended  about  fifty  paces,  by  means  of  a  rope.  I  at 
last  arrived  at  a  small  spot  of  level  ground,  where  the  bot- 

35  torn  appeared  diflJerent  from  that  of  the  amphitheatre,  be- 
ing composed  of  soft  clay,  yielding  to  the  pressure,  and  in 
which  I  thrust  a  stick  to  the  depth  of  six  feet. 

"  In  this,  however,  as  above,  numbers  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful crystals  were  formed ;    one  of  which,  particularly, 

40  resembled  a  table.  Upon  our  egress  from  this  amazing 
cavern,  we  perceived  a  Greek  inscription  upon  a  rock  at 
the  mouth,  but  so  obliterated  by  time  that  we  could  not 
read  it  distinctly.  It  seemed  to  import  that  one  Antipater, 
in  the  time  of  Alexander,  had  come  hither ;  but  whether 
25 


290  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  liv. 

he  penetrated  into  the  depths  of  the  cavern,  he  does  not 
think  fit  to  inform  us."  This  account  of  so  beautiful  and 
striking  a  scene  may  serve  to  give  us  some  idea  of  the 
subterraneous  wonders  of  nature.  —  Goldsmith. 


EXERCISE  LIV. 

The  Past. 

5         Thou  unrelenting  Past ! 

Strong  are  the  barriers  round  thy  dark  domain, 
And  fetters  sure  and  fast 
Hold  all  that  enter  thy  unbreathing  reign. 
Far  in  thy  realm  withdrawn, 
10     Old  empires  sit  in  sullenness  and  gloom,       ^ 
And  glorious  ages  gone 
Lie  deep  within  the  shadow  of  thy  womb. 

Childhood,  with  all  its  mirth. 
Youth,  manhood,  age,  that  draws  us  to  the  ground 
15     And  last,  man's  life  on  earth, 

Glide  to  thy  dim  dominions,  and  are  bound. 

Thou  hast  my  better  years. 
Thou  hast  my  earlier  friends  —  the  good,  the  kind. 
Yielded  to  thee  with  tears  — 
20     The  venerable  form,  the  exalted  mind. 
My  spirit  yearns  to  bring 
The  lost  ones  back  —  yearns  with  desire  intense, 
And  struggles  hard  to  wring 
Thy  bolts  apart,  and  pluck  thy  captives  thence. 
25         In  vain  ;  —  thy  gates  deny 

All  passage,  save  to  those  who  hence  depart ; 
Nor  to  the  streaming  eye 

Thou  giv'st  them  back  —  nor  to  the  broken  heart. 
In  thy  abysses  hide 
30     Beauty  and  excellence  unknown  —  to  thee 
Earth's  wonder  and  her  pride 
Are  gathered,  as  the  waters  to  the  sea ; 

Labors  of  good  to  man, 
Unpublished  charity,  unbroken  faith, — 
35     Love,  that  'midst  grief  began, 

And  grew  with  years  and  faltered  not  in  death. 

Full  many  a  mighty  name 
Lurks  in  thy  depths,  unuttered,  unrevered ; 


EX.  LV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  291 

With  thee  are  silent  fame, 

Forgotten  arts,  and  wisdom  disappeared. 

Thine  for  a  space  are  they  — 
Yet  shalt  thou  yield  thy  treasures  up  at  last ; 
5     Thy  gates  shall  yet  give  way, 

Thy  bolts  shall  fall,  inexorable  Past! 

All  that  of  good  and  fair 
Has  gone  into  thy  womb  from  earliest  time 
Shall  then  come  forth  to  wear 
10     The  glory  and  the  beauty  of  its  prime. 
They  have  not  perished  —  no  ! 
Kind  words,  remembered  voices,  once  so  sweet, 
Smiles,  radiant  long  ago. 
And  features,  the  great  soul's  apparent  seat. 
15         All  shall  come  back ;   each  tie 

Of  pure  affection  shall  be  knit  again ; 
Alone  shall  Evil  die, 

And  Sorrow  dwell  a  prisoner,  in  thy  reign. 
And  then  shall  I  behold 
20     Him  by  whose  kind  paternal  side  I  sprung, 
And  her,  who,  still  and  cold. 
Fills  the  next  grave  —  the  beautiful  and  young. 

Bryant, 


LESSON  LV. 

Extract  from  an  Oration  pronounced  by  the  Speaker  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  of  the  United  States ,  July  ^th, 
1848,  on  the  occasion  of  laying  the  corner-stone  of  the 
NatioTial  Monument  to  the  memoi'y  of  Washington. 

Fellow-citizens  :  —  While  we  thus  commend  the  char- 
acter and  example  of  Washington  to  others,  let  us  not 

25  forget  to  imitate  it  ourselves.  I  have  spoken  of  the  pre- 
cise period  which  we  have  reached  in  our  own  history,  as 
well  as  in  that  of  the  world  at  large,  as  giving  something 
of  peculiar  interest  to  the  proceedings  in  which  we  are 
engaged. 

30  I  may  not,  I  will  not,  disturb  the  harmony  of  the  scene 
before  me  by  the  slightest  allusion  of  a  party  character. 
The  circumstances  of  the  occasion  forbid  it ;  the  associa- 
tions of  the  day  forbid  it ;  the  character  of  him  in  whose 
honor  we  are  assembled  forbids  if ;  my  own  feelings  revolt 

35  from  it.     But  I  may  say,  I  must  say,  and  every  one  within 


Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lv. 

the  sound  of  my  voice  will  sustain  me  in  saying,  that 
there  has  been  no  moment  since  Washington  himself  was 
among  us,  when  it  was  more  important  than  at  this  mo- 
ment, that  the  two  great  leading  principles  of  his  policy 
5  should  be  remembered  and  cherished. 

Those  principles  were,  first,  the  most  complete,  cordial, 
and  indissoluble  union  of  the  states ;  and,  second,  the  most 
entire  separation  and  disentanglement  of  our  own  country 
from  all  other  countries.     Perfect  union  among  ourselves, 

10  perfect  neutrality  towards  others,  and  peace,  peace,  domes- 
tic peace  and  foreign  peace,  as  the  result ;  this  was  the 
chosen  and  consummate  policy  of  the  father  of  his  country. 
But  above  all,  and  before  all,  in  the  heart  of  Wash- 
ington, was  the  union  of  the  states ;  and  no  opportunity 

15  was  ever  omitted  by  him  to  impress  upon  his  fellow- 
citizens  the  profound  sense  which  he  entertained  of  its 
vital  importance  at  once  to  their  prosperity  and  their 
liberty. 

In  that  incomparable  address  in  which  he  bade  farewell 

20  to  his  countrymen  at  the  close  of  his  presidential  service, 
he  touched  upon  many  other  topics  with  the  earnestness 
of  a  sincere  conviction.  He  called  upon  them,  in  solemn 
terms,  to  "  cherish  public  credit ;"  to  "  observe  good  faith 
and  justice  towards  all  nations,"  avoiding  both  "  inveterate 

25  antipathies  and  passionate  attachments  "  towards  any  ;  to 
mitigate  and  assuage  the  unquenchable  fire  of  party  spirit, 
"  lest,  instead  of  warming,  it  should  consume  ;"  to  abstain 
from  "characterizing  parties  by  geographical  distinc- 
tions ;"  "  to  promote  institutions  for  the  general  diflfusion 

30  of  knowledge  ;"  to  respect  and  uphold  "  religion  and  mo- 
rality; those  great  pillars  of  human  happiness,  those 
firmest  props  of  the  duties  of  men  and  of  citizens." 

But  what  can  exceed,  what  can  equal,  the  accumulated 
intensity  of  thought  and  of  expression  with  which  he  calls 

35  upon  them  to  cling  to  the  union  of  the  states.  "  It  is  of 
infinite  moment,"  says  he,  in  language  which  we  ought 
never  to  be  weary  of  hearing  or  of  repeating,  "  that  you 
should  properly  estimate  the  immense  value  of  your  Na- 
tional Union  to  your  collective  and  individual  happiness ; 

40  that  you  should  cherish  a  cordial,  habitual,  immovable 
attachment  to  it;  accustoming  yourselves  to  think  and 
speak  of  it  as  of  the  palladium  of  your  political  safety  and 
prosperity;  watching  for  its  preservation  with  jealous 
anxiety ;  discountenancing  whatever  may  suggest  even  a 


EX.  LY.  RHETORICAL   READING.  293 

suspicion  that  it  can,  in  any  event,  be  abandoned ;  and 
indignantly  frowning  upon  the  first  dawning  of  every 
attempt  to  alienate  any  portion  of  our  country  from  the 
rest,  or  to  enfeeble  the  sacred  ties  which  now  link  together 
5  the  various  parts." 

The  Union,  the  Union  in  any  event,  was  thus  the  senti- 
ment of  Washington.  The  Union,  the  Union  in  any 
event,  —  let  it  be  our  sentiment  this  day ! 

Yes,  to-day,  fellow-citizens,  at  the  very  moment  when 

10  the  extension  of  our  boundaries  and  the  multiplication  of 
our  territories  are  producing,  directly  and  indirectly,  among 
the  different  members  of  our  political  system,  so  many 
marked  and  mourned  centrifugal  tendencies,  let  us  seize 
this  occasion  to  renew  to  each  other  our  vows  of  alle- 

15  giance  and  devotion  to  the  American  Union,  and  let  us 
recognize  in  our  common  title  to  the  name  and  the  fame 
of  Washington,  and  in  our  common  veneration  for  his 
example  and  his  advice,  the  all-sufficient  centripetal  power, 
which  shall  hold  the  thick  clustering  stars  of  our  confed- 

20  eracy  in  one  glorious  constellation  forever!  Let  the 
column  which  we  are  about  to  construct  be  at  once  a 
pledge  and  an  emblem  of  perpetual  union !  Let  the  found- 
ations be  laid,  let  the  superstructure  be  built  up  and 
cemented,  let  each  stone  be  raised  and  riveted,  in  a  spirit 

25  of  national  brotherhood!  And  may  the  earliest  ray  of 
the  rising  sun  —  till  that  sun  shall  set  to  rise  no  more  — 
draw  forth  from  it  daily,  as  from  the  fabled  statue  of 
antiquity,  a  strain  of  national  harmony,  which  shall 
strike  a  responsive  chord  in  every  heart  throughout  the 

30  republic! 

Proceed,  then,  fellow-citizens,  with  the  work  for  which 
you  have  assembled !  Lay  the  comer-stone  of  a  monu- 
ment which  shall  adequately  bespeak  the  gratitude  of  the 
whole  American  people  to  the   illustrious  father  of  his 

35  country !  Build  it  to  the  skies ;  you  cannot  outreach  the 
loftiness  of  his  principles !  Found  it  upon  the  massive 
and  eternal  rock ;  you  cannot  make  it  more  enduring  than 
his  fame !  Construct  it  of  the  peerless  Parian  marble ; 
you  cannot  make  it  purer  than  his  life !     Exhaust  upon  it 

40  the  rules  and  principles  of  ancient  and  of  modern  art; 

you  cannot  make  it  more  proportionate  than  his  character ! 

But  let  not   your  homage  to  his  memory  end  here. 

Think  not  to  transfer  to  a  tablet  or  a  column  the  Iribute 

which  is  due  from  yourselves.     Just  honor  to  Washing- 

25=*= 


294  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lvi. 

ton  can  only  be  rendered  by  observing  his  precepts  and 
imitating  his  example.  Similitudine  decoremus.  He  has 
built  his  own  monument.  We,  and  those  who  come  after 
us  in  successive  generations,  are  its  appointed,  its  privi- 
5  leged  guardians.  This  wide-spread  republic  is  the  true 
monument  to  Washington.  Maintain  its  independence. 
Uphold  its  constitution.  Preserve  its  Union.  Defend  its 
liberty.  Let  it  stand  before  the  world  in  all  its  original 
strength  and  beauty,  securing  peace,  order,  equality  and 

10  freedom,  to  all  within  its  boundaries,  and  shedding  light 
and  hope  and  joy  upon  the  pathway  of  human  liberty 
throughout  the  world,  —  and  Washington  needs  no  other 
monument.  Other  structures  may  fitly  testify  our  vener- 
ation for  him ;  this,  this  alone,  can  adequately  illustrate 

15  his  services  to  mankind. 

Nor  does  he  need  even  this.  The  republic  may  perish ; 
the  wide  arch  of  our  ranged  union  may  fall ;  star  by  star 
its  glories  may  expire ;  stone  after  stone  its  columns  and 
its  capitol  may  moulder  and  crumble;   all  other  names 

20  which  adorn  its  annals  may  be  forgotten ;  but  as  long  as 
human  hearts  shall  anywhere  pant,  or  human  tongues 
shall  anywhere  plead,  for  a  true,  rational,  constitutional 
liberty,  those  hearts  shall  enshrine  the  memory,  and  those 
tongues  shall  prolong  the  fame,  of  George  Washington ! 

Hon.  R.  C.  Winthrop. 


EXERCISE  LVI. 
Winter  Scenes. 

25       See,  Winter  comes,  to  rule  the  varied  year, 
Sullen  and  sad,  with  all  his  rising  train  — 
Vapors,  and  clouds,  and  storms.     Be  these  my  theme, 
'  These,  that  exalt  the  soul  to  solemn  thought, 
And  heavenly  musing. 

30  Welcome,  kindred  glooms  ! 

Congenial  horrors,  hail !  with  frequent  foot. 
Pleased  have  I,  in  my  cheerful  morn  of  life, 
When  nursed  by  careless. Solitude  I  lived, 
And  sung  of  Nature  with  unceasing  joy, 

85  Pleased  have  I  wandered  through  your  rough  domain ; 
Trod  the  pure  virgin  snows,  myself  as  pure ; 
Hea^  the  winds  roar,  and  the  big  torrent  burst ; 


EX.  LVI.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  295 

Or  seen  the  deep-fermenting  tempest  brewed, 
In  the  grim  evening  sky. 

Thus  passed  the  time, 
Till  through  the  lucid  chambers  of  the  south 
5  Looked  out  the  joyous  spring,  —  looked  out,  and  smiled. 

T^  TT  'ff  tP  'T?  tIP 

Now  when  the  cheerless  empire  of  the  sky 

To  Capricorn  the  Centaur  Archer  yields. 

And  fierce  Aquarius  stains  the  inverted  year ; 

Hung  o'er  the  furthest  verge  of  heaven,  the  sun 
10  Scarce  spreads  through  ether  the  dejected  day. 

Faint  are  his  gleams,  and  ineffectual  shoot 

His  struggling  rays,  in  horizontal  lines, 

Through  the  thick  air ;  as,  clothed  in  cloudy  storm, 

Weak,  wan,  and  broad,  he  skirts  the  southern  sky; 
15  And,  soon  descending,  to  the  long,  dark  night, 

Wide-shading  all,  the  prostrate  world  resigns. 
Nor  is  the  night  unwished ;  while  vital  heat, 

Light,  life  and  joy,  the  dubious  day  forsake. 

Meantime,  in  sable  cincture,  shadows  vast, 
20  Deep-tinged  and  damp,  and  congregated  clouds, 

And  all  the  vapory  turbulence  of  heaven. 

Involve  the  face  of  things. 

Thus  Winter  falls, 

A  heavy  gloom  oppressive  o'er  the  world, 
25  Through  Nature  shedding  influence  malign, 

And  rouses  up  the  seeds  of  dark  disease. 

The  soul  of  man  dies  in  him,  loathing  life. 

And  black  with  more  than  melancholy  views. 
The  cattle  droop ;  and  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 
30  Fresh  from  the  plough,  the  dun-discolored  flocks, 

XJntended  spreading,  crop  the  wholesome  root. 

Along  the  woods,  along  the  moorish  fens. 

Sighs  the  sad  Genius  of  the  coming  storm : 

And  up  among  the  loose  disjointed  cliflTs, 
35  And  fractured  mountains  wild,  the  brawling  brook 

And  cave  presageful  send  a  hollow  moan. 

Resounding  long  in  listening  Fancy's  ear. 
Then  comes  the  father  of  the  tempest  forth. 

Wrapped  in  black  glooms.     First  joyless  rains  obscure 
40  Drive  through  the  minghng  skies  with  vapor  foul, 

Dash  on  the  mountain's  brow  and  shake  the  woods, 

That  grumbling  wave  below. 


296  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lvi. 

The  unsightly  plain 
Lies  a  brown  deluge ;  as  the  low-bent  clouds 
Pour  flood  on  flood,  yet  unexhausted  still 
Combine,  and,  deepening  into  night,  shut  up 
5  The  day's  fair  face. 

The  wanderers  of  heaven 
Each  to  his  home  retire ;  save  those  that  love 
To  take  their  pastime  in  the  troubled  air. 
Or  skimming  flutter  round  the  dimply  pool. 

10  The  cattle  from  the  untasted  fields  return. 

And  ask,  with  meaning  low,  their  wonted  stalls, 
Or  ruminate  in  the  contiguous  shade. 
Thither  the  household  feathery  people  crowd,  — 
The  crested  cock,  with  all  his  female  train, 

15  Pensive  and  dripping;  while  the  cottage  hind 
Hangs  o'er  the  enlivening  blaze,  and  taleful  there 
Recounts  his  simple  frolic ;  much  he  talks. 
And  much  he  laughs,  nor  recks  the  storm  that  blows 
Without,  and  rattles  on  his  humble  roof. 

20       Wide  o'er  the  brim,  with  many  a  torrent  swelled, 
And  the  mixed  ruin  of  its  banks  o'erspread. 
At  last  the  roused-up  river  pours  along : 
Resistless,  roaring,  dreadful,  down  it  comes. 
From  the  rude  mountain,  and  the  mossy  wild, 

25  Tumbling  through  rocks  abrupt,  and  sounding  far; 
Then  o'er  the  sanded  valley  floating  spreads. 
Calm,  sluggish,  silent;  till  again,  constrained 
Between  two  meeting  hills,  it  bursts  away. 
Where  rocks  and  woods  o'erhang  the  turbid  stream; 

30  There,  gathering  triple  force,  rapid  and  deep. 

It  boils,  and  wheels,  and  foams,  and  thunders  through. 

Nature  !  great  parent !  whose  unceasing  hand 
Rolls  round  the  seasons  of  the  changeful  year, 
How  mighty,  how  majestic,  are  thy  works  ! 

35  With  what  a  pleasing  dread  they  swell  the  soul, 
That  sees  astonished,  and  astonished  sings  ! 
Ye  too,  ye  winds  !  that  now  begin  to  blow 
With  boisterous  sweep,  I  raise  my  voice  to  you. 
Where  are  your  stores,  ye  powerful  beings !  say 

40  Where  your  a'erial  magazines  reserved. 
To  swell  the  brooding  terrors  of  the  storm  ? 
In  what  far  distant  region  of  the  sky. 
Hushed  in  deep  silence,  sleep  ye  when  't  is  calm  ? 
When  from  the  pallid  sky  the  sun  descends, 


EX.  LVI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  297 

With  many  a  spot,  that  o'er  his  glaring  orb 

Uncertain  wanders,  stained  ;  red  fiery  streaks 

Begin  to  flush  around.     The  reeling  clouds 

Stagger  with  dizzy  poise,  as  doubting  yet 
5  Which  master  to  obey :  while  rising  slow, 

Blank,  in  the  leaden-colored  east,  the  moon 

Wears  a  wan  circle  round  her  blunted  horns. 
Seen  through  the  turbid,  fluctuating  air, 

The  stars  obtuse  emit  a  shivered  ray ; 
10  Or  frequent  seem  to  shoot  athwart  the  gloom, 

And  long  behind  them  trail  the  whitening  blaze. 

Snatched  in  short  eddies,  plays  the  withered  leaf; 

And  on  the  flood  the  dancing  feather  floats. 
With  broadened  nostrils  to  the  sky  upturned, 
15  The  conscious  heifer  snuffs  the  stormy  gale. 

E'en  as  the  matron,  at  her  nightly  task. 

With  pensive  labor  draws  the  flaxen  thread, 

The  wasted  taper  and  the  crackling  flame 

Foretell  the  blast. 
20  But  chief  the  plumy  race, 

The  tenants  of  the  sky,  its  changes  speak. 

Retiring  from  the  downs,  where  all  day  long 

They  picked  their  scanty  fare,  a  blackening  train 

Of  clamorous  rooks  thick  urge  their  weary  flight, 
25  And  seek  the  closing  shelter  of  the  grove  ; 

Assiduous,  in  his  bower,  the  wailing  owl 

Plies  his  sad  song. 

The  cormorant  on  high 

Wheels  from  the  deep,  and  screams  along  the  land. 
30  Loud  shrieks  the  soaring  hern ;  and  with  wild  wing 

The  circling  sea-fowl  cleave  the  flaky  clouds. 

Ocean,  unequal  pressed,  with  broken  tide 

And  blind  commotion  heaves ;  while  from  the  shore, 

Eat  into  caverns  by  the  restless  wave, 
35  And  forest-rustling  mountain,  comes  a  voice, 

That  solemn  sounding  bids  the  world  prepare. 
Then  issues  forth  the  storm  with  sudden  burst, 

And  hurls  the  whole  precipitated  air 

Down  in  a  torrent.     On  the  passive  main 
40  Descends  the  ethereal  force,  and  with  strong  gust 

Turns  from  its  bottom  the  discolored  deep. 

Through  the  black  night  that  sits  immense  around, 

Lashed  into  foam,  the  fierce  conflicting  brine 

Seems  o'er  a  thousand  raging  waves  to  bum. 


298  RHETORICAL   READING.  [EX.  LVI. 

Meantime,  the  mountain  billows,  to  the  clouds 

In  dreadful  tumult  swelled,  surge  above  surge, 

Burst  into  chaos  with  tremendous  roar, 

And  anchored  navies  from  their  station  drive, 
5  Wild  as  the  winds,  across  the  howling  waste 

Of  mighty  waters  :  now  the  inflated  wave 

Straining  they  scale,  and  now  impetuous  shoot 

Into  the  secret  chambers  of  the  deep. 

The  wintry  Baltic  thundering  o'er  their  head. 
10       Emerging  thence  again,  before  the  breath 

Of  full-exerted  heaven  they  wing  their  course, 

And  dart  on  distant  coasts ;  if  some  sharp  rock 

Or  shoal  insidious  break  not  their  career. 

And  in  loose  fragments  fling  them  floating  round. 
15       Nor  less  at  land  the  loosened  tempest  reigns. 

The  mountain  thunders  ;  and  its  sturdy  sons 

Stoop  to  the  bottom  of  the  rocks  they  shade. 

Lone  on  the  midnight  steep,  and  all  aghast, 

The  dark,  wayfaring  stranger  breathless  toils, 
20  And,  often  falling,  climbs  against  the  blast. 

Low  waves  the  rooted  forest,  vexed,  and  sheds 

What  of  its  tarnished  honors  yet  remain  ; 

Dashed  down,  and  scattered,  by  the  tearing  wind's 

Assiduous  fury,  its  gigantic  limbs. 
25       Thus  struggling  through  the  dissipated  grove, 

The  whirling  tempest  raves  along  the  plain ; 

And  on  the  cottage  thatched,  or  lordly  roof. 

Keen-fastening,  shakes  them  to  the  solid  base. 

Sleep  frighted  flies ;  and  round  the  rocking  dome, 
30  For  entrance  eager,  howls  the  savage  blast. 

#  #  #  #  #  # 

Huge  uproar  lords  it  wide.     The  clouds,  commixed 

With  stars  swift  gliding,  sweep  along  the  sky. 

All  Nature  reels.     Till  Nature's  King,  who  oft 
35  Amid  tempestuous  darkness  dwells  alone. 

And  on  the  wings  of  the  careering  wind 

Walks  dreadfully  serene,  commands  a  calm ; 

Then,  straight,  air,  sea  and  earth,  are  hushed  at  once 
As  yet  't  is  midnight  deep.     The  weary  clouds, 
40  Slow-meeting,  mingle  into  solid  gloom. 

Now,  while  the  drowsy  world  lies  lost  in  sleep. 

Let  me  associate  with  the  serious  Night, 

And  Contemplation,  her  sedate  compeer ; 


EX.  Lvn.]  Parker's  exercises  in  299 

Let  me  shake  off  the  intrusive  cares  of  day, 

And  lay  the  meddling  senses  all  aside. 
Where  now,  ye  lying  vanities  of  life ! 

Ye  ever-tempting,  ever-cheating  train ! 
5  Where  are  you  now  ?   and  what  is  your  amount  ?  — 

Vexation,  disappointment,  and  remorse  : 

Sad,  sickening  thought !  and  yet,  deluded  man, 

A  scene  of  crude  disjointed  visions  past, 

And  broken  slumbers,  rises,  still  resolved, 
10  With  new-flushed  hopes,  to  run  the  giddy  round 
Father  of  light  and  life  !   Thou  Good  Supreme ! 

O,  teach  me  what  is  good !   teach  me  Thyself ! 

Save  me  from  folly,  vanity  and  vice, 

From  every  low  pursuit  I  and  feed  my  soul 
15  With  knowledge,  conscious  peace,  and  virtue  pure ; 

Sacred,  substantial,  never-fading  bliss  I  TJumison. 


EXERCISE  LVn. 
The  Punishment  of  a  lAar. 

From  the  2nd  Book  of  Kings,  Chapter  V. 

Now  Naaman,  captain  of  the  host  of  the  King  of  Syria, 
was  a  great  man  with  his  master,  and  honorable,  because 
by  him  the  Lord  had  given  deliverance  unto  Syria :  he 

20  was  also  a  mighty  man  in  valor,  but  he  was  a  leper. 

And  the  Syrians  had  gone  out  by  companies,  and  had 
brought  away  captive  out  of  the  land  of  Israel  a  little 
maid ;  and  she  waited  on  Naaman's  wife.  And  she  said 
unto  her  mistress,  Would  God  my  lord  were  with  the 

25  prophet  that  is  in  Samaria !  for  he  would  recover  him  of 

his  leprosy.     And  one  went  in,  and  told  his  lord,  saying, 

Thus  and  thus  said  the  maid  that  is  of  the  land  of  Israel. 

And  the  King  of  Syria  said.  Go  to,  go,  and  I  will  send 

a  letter  unto  the  King  of  Israel.     And  he  departed,  and 

30  took  with  him  ten  talents  of  silver,  and  six  thousand  pieces 
of  gold,  and  ten  changes  of  raiment.  And  he  brought  the 
letter  to  the  King  of  Israel,  saying,  Now  when  this  letter 
is  come  unto  thee,  behold,  I  have  therewith  sent  Naaman 
my  servant  to  thee,  that  thou  mayst  recover  him  of  his 

35  leprosy. 

And  it  came  to  pass,  when  the  King  of  Israel  had  read 


^00  RIIETOKICAL   READING.  [EX.  LVtl. 

the  letter,  that  he  rent  his  clothes,  and  said,  Am  I  God,  to 
kill  and  to  make  alive,  that  this  man  doth  send  unto  me  to 
recover  a  man  of  his  leprosy  ?  Wherefore  consider,  I  pray 
you,  and  see  how  he  seeketh  a  quarrel  against  me. 
5  And  it  was  so,  when  Elisha  the  man  of  God  had  heard 
that  the  King  of  Israel  had  rent  his  clothes,  that  he  sent  to 
the  king,  saying.  Wherefore  hast  thou  rent  thy  clothes  ? 
let  him  come  now  to  me,  and  he  shall  know  that  there  is  a 
prophet  in  Israel. 

10  So  Naaman  came  with  his  horses  and  with  his  chariot, 
and  stood  at  th*e  door  of  the  house  of  Elisha.  And  Elisha 
sent  a  messenger  unto  him,  saying,  Go  and  wash  in  Jordan 
seven  times,  and  thy  flesh  shall  come  again  to  thee,  and 
thou  shalt  be  clean. 

15  But  Naaman  was  wroth,  and  went  away,  and  said,  Be- 
hold, I  thought.  He  will  surely  come  out  to  me,  and  stand, 
and  call  on  the  name  of  the  Lord  his  God,  and  strike  his 
hand  over  the  place,  and  recover  the  leper.  Are  not  Aba- 
na  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus,  better  than  all  the 

20  waters  of  Israel?  may  I  not  wash  in  them,  and  be  clean? 
So  he  turned  and  went  away  in  a  rage. 

And  his  servants  came  near,  and  spake  unto  him,  and 
said,  My  father,  if  the  prophet  had  bid  thee  do  some  great 
thing,  wouldst  thou  not  have  done  it  ?   how  much  rather 

25  then,  when  he  saith  to  thee.  Wash  and  be  clean.  Then 
went  he  down,  and  dipped  himself  seven  times  in  Jordan, 
according  to  the  saying  of  the  man  of  God :  and  his  flesh 
came  again  like  unto  the  flesh  of  a  little  child,  and  he  was 
clean. 

30  And  he  returned  to  the  man  of  God,  he  and  all  his 
company,  and  came  and  stood  before  him :  and  he  said. 
Behold,  now  I  know  that  there  is  no  God  in  all  the  earth, 
but  in  Israel :  now  therefore,  I  pray  thee  take  a  blessing 
of  thy  servant.     But  he  said,  As  the  Lord  liveth,  before 

35  whom  I  stand,  I  will  receive  none.  And  he  urged  him  to 
take  it ;   but  he  refused. 

And  Naaman  said.  Shall  there  not  then,  I  pray  thee,  be 
given  to  thy  servant  two  mules'  burden  of  earth  ?  for  thy 
servant  will  henceforth  offer  neither  burnt-offering  nor  sac- 

40  rifice  unto  other  gods,  but  unto  the  Lord.  In  this  thing 
the  Lord  pardon  thy  servant,  that  when  my  master  goeth 
into  the  house  of  Rimmon  to  worship  there,  and  he  leaneth 
on  my  hand,  and  I  bow  myself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon  : 
when  I  bow  down  myself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon,  the 


EX.  LVni.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  301 

Lord  pardon  thy  servant  in  this  thing.  And  he  said  unto 
him,  Go  in  peace.  So  he  departed  from  him  a  little  way. 
But  Gehazi,  the  servant  of  Elisha  the  man  of  God,  said. 
Behold,  my  master  hath  spared  Naaman  this  Syrian,  in 
5  not  receiving-  at  his  hands  that  which  he  brought :  but  as 
the  Lord  liveth,  1  will  run  after  him,  and  take  somewhat 
of  him.     So  Gehazi  followed  after  Naaman. 

And  when  Naaman  saw  him  running  after  him,  he 
lighted  down  from  the  chariot  to  meet  him,  and  said.  Is  all 

10  well  ?  And  he  said.  All  is  well.  My  master  hath  sent 
me,  saying,  Behold,  even  now  there  be  come  to  me  from 
Mount  Ephraim  two  young  men  of  the  sons  of  the  proph- 
ets :  give  them,  1  pray  thee,  a  talent  of  silver,  and  two 
changes  of  garments. 

15  And  Naaman  said.  Be  content,  take  two  talents.  And 
he  urged  him,  and  bound  two  talents  of  silver  in  two  bags, 
with  two  changes  of  garments,  and  laid  them  upon  two  of 
his  servants ;  and  they  bare  them  before  him.  And  when 
he  came  to  the  tower,  he  took  them  from  their  hand  and 

20  bestowed  them  in  the  house :  and  he  let  the  men  go,  and 
they  departed.  But  he  went  in,  and  stood  before  his 
master. 

And  Elisha  said  unto  him.  Whence  comest  thou,  Ge- 
hazi ?     And  he  said.  Thy  servant  went  no  whither.     And 

25  he  said  unto  him.  Went  not  my  heart  with  thee,  when 
the  man  turned  again  from  his  chariot  to  meet  thee  ?  Is 
it  a  time  to  receive  money,  and  to  receive  garments,  and 
olive-yards,  and  vineyards,  and  sheep,  and  oxen,  and  men- 
servants,  and  maid-servants  ?     The  leprosy,  therefore,  of 

30  Naaman  shall  cleave  unto  thee  and  unto  thy  seed  forever. 
And  he  went  out  from  his  presence  a  leper  as  white  as 
snow. 


EXERCISE  LVIII. 

Reflections  occasioned  by  a  Man's  perishing  in  a  SnoW'Storm, 

As  thus  the  snows  arise ;  and  foul,  and  fierce, 
All  Winter  drives  along  the  darkened  air; 
35     In  his  own  loose  revolving  fields,  the  swain 
Disastered  stands ;  sees  other  hills  ascend, 
Of  unknown  joyless  brow ;  and  other  scenes, 
Of  horrid  prospect,  shag  the  trackless  plain : 
Nor  finds  the  river,  nor  the  forest,  hid 
26 


302  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lviii. 

Beneath  the  formless  wild  ;  but  wanders  on 

From  hill  to  dale,  still  more  and  more  astray ; 

Impatient  flouncing  through  the  drifted  heaps, 

Stung  with  the  thoughts  of  home  ;  the  thoughts  of  home 
5     Rush  on  his  nerves,  and  call  their  vigor  forth 

In  many  a  vain  attempt. 

How  sinks  his  soul ! 

What  black  despair,  what  horror  fills  his  heart ! 

When  for  the  dusky  spot,  which  fancy  feigned 
10     His  tufted  cottage  rising  through  the  snow, 

He  meets  the  roughness  of  the  middle  waste, 

Far  from  the  track  and  blessed  abode  of  man ! 

While  round  him  night  resistless  closes  fast, 

And  every  tempest,  howling  o'er  his  head, 
15     Renders  the  savage  wilderness  more  wild. 

Then  throng  the  busy  shapes  into  his  mind 

Of  covered  pits,  unfathomably  deep, 

A  dire  descent !  beyond  the  power  of  frost ! 

Of  faithless  bogs ;  of  precipices  huge, 
20     Smoothed  up  with  snow ;  and,  what  is  land,  unknown ; 

What  water,  of  the  still  unfrozen  spring, 

In  the  loose  marsh  or  solitary  lake. 

Where  the  fresh  fountain  from  the  bottom  boils. 
These  check  his  fearful  steps  ;  and  down  he  sinks 
25     Beneath  the  shelter  of  the  shapeless  drift. 

Thinking  o'er  all  the  bitterness  of  death. 

Mixed  with  the  tender  anguish  Nature  shoots 

Through  the  wrung  bosom  of  the  dying  man, — 

His  wife,  his  children,  and  his  friends  unseen. 
30         In  vain  for  him  the  officious  wife  prepares 

The  fire  fair-blazing,  and  the  vestment  warm  ; 

In  vain  his  little  children,  peeping  out 

Into  the  mingling  storm,  demand  their  sire, 

With  tears  of  artless  innocence.     Alas  ! 
35     Nor  wife,  nor  children,  more  shall  he  behold, 

Nor  friends,  nor  sacred  home. 

On  every  nerve 

The  deadly  Winter  seizes  ;  shuts  up  sense ; 

And,  o'er  his  inmost  vitals  creeping  cold, 
40     Lays  him  along  the  snows,  a  stiffened  corse. 

Stretched  out,  and  bleaching  in  the  northern  blast. 
Ah !  little  think  the  gay  licentious  proud. 

Whom  pleasure,  power,  and  affluence  surround ; 

They  who  their  thoughtless  hours  in  giddy  mirth, 


EX.  LIX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  303 

And  wanton,  often  cruel,  riot  waste ; 
Ah !  little  think  they,  while  they  dance  along, 
How  many  feel,  this  very  moment,  death, 
And  all  the  sad  variety  of  pain ! 
5         How  many  sink  in  the  devouring-  flood. 
Or  more  devouring  flame  !     How  many  bleed. 
By  shameful  variance  betwixt  man  and  man ! 
How  many  pine  in  want,  and  dungeon  glooms , 
Shut  from  the  common  air,  and  common  use 

10     Of  their  own  limbs  !     How  many  'drink  the  cup 
Of  baleful  grief,  or  eat  the  bitter  bread 
Of  misery  !     Sore  pierced  by  wintry  winds, 
How  many  shrink  into  the  sordid  hut 
Of  cheerless  poverty !     How  many  shake 

15    With  all  the  fiercer  tortures  of  the  mind. 
Unbounded  passion,  madness,  guilt,  remorse ; 
Whence  tumbled  headlong  from  the  height  of  life, 
They  furnish  matter  for  the  tragic  Muse ! 

E'en  in  the  vale  where  Wisdom  loves  to  dwell, 

20     With  friendship,  peace,  and  contemplation  joined, 
How  many,  racked  with  honest  passions,  droop 
In  deep  retired  distress  !     How  many  stand 
Around  the  death-bed  of  their  dearest  friends. 
And  point  the  parting  anguish  ! 

25  Thought  fond  Man 

Of  these,  and  all  the  thousand  nameless  ills. 
That  one  incessant  struggle  render  life,  — 
One  scene  of  toil,  of  sufliering,  and  of  fate, — 
Vice  in  his  high  career  would  stand  appalled, 

30     And  heedless  rambling  Impulse  learn  to  think ; 
The  conscious  heart  of  Charity  would  warm. 
And  her  wide  wish  Benevolence  dilate ; 
The  social  tear  would  rise,  the  social  sigh : 
And  into  clear  perfection,  gradual  bliss, 

35    Refining  still,  the  social  passions  work.     Thomson. 


EXERCISE  LIX. 

CdUisthenes^  Reproof  of  CleoiVs  Flattery  to  Alexander. 

If  the  king  were  present,  Cleon,  there  would  be  no  need 
of  my  answering  to  what  you  have  just  proposed.  He 
would  himself  reprove  you  for  endeavoring  to  draw  him 


804  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lx. 

into  an  imitation  of  foreign  absurdities,  and  for  bringing 
envy  upon  him  by  such  unmanly  flattery. 

As  he  is  absent,  I  take  upon  me  to  tell  you,  in  his  name, 
that  no  praise  is  lasting,  but  what  is  rational ;  and  that 

5  you  do  what  you  can  to  lessen  his  glory,  instead  of  adding 
to  it.  Heroes  have  never  among  us  been  deified,  till  after 
their  death ;  and  whatever  may  be  your  way  of  thinking, 
Cleon,  for  my  part,  I  wish  the  king  may  not,  for  many 
years  to  come,  obtain  that  honor. 

10  You  have  mentioned,  as  precedents  of  what  you  pro- 
pose, Hercules  and  Bacchus.  Do  you  imagine,  Cleon,  that 
they  were  deified  over  a  cup  of  wine  ?  and  are  you  and  I 
qualified  to  make  gods  ?  Is  the  king,  our  sovereign,  to 
receive  his  divinity  from  you  and  me,  who  are  his  subjects  ? 

15  First  try  your  power,  whether  you  can  make  a  king.  It 
is  surely  easier  to  make  a  king  than  a  god ;  to  give  an 
earthly  dominion,  than  a  throne  in  heaven.  I  only  wish 
that  the  gods  may  have  heard  without  offence  the  arro- 
gant proposal  you  have  made  of  adding  one  to  their  num- 

20  ber ;  and  that  they  may  still  be  so  propitious  to  us  as  to 
grant  the  continuance  of  that  success  to  our  afTairs  with 
which  they  have  hitherto  favored  us. 

For  my  part,  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my  country ;  nor  do 
I  approve  of  our  adopting  the  rites  of  foreign  nations,  or 

25  learning  from  them  how  we  ought  to  reverence  our  kings. 
To  receive  laws  or  rules  of  conduct  from  them,  what  is  it 
but  to  confess  ourselves  inferior  to  them  ? 


EXERCISE  LX. 

Rural  Felicity. 

O,  knew  he  but  his  happiness,  of  men 
The  happiest  he,  who,  far  from  public  rage, 

30     Deep  in  the  vale,  with  a  choice  few  retired, 
Drinks  the  pure  pleasures  of  the  rural  life. 

What  though  the  dome  be  wanting,  whose  proud  gate, 
Each  morning,  vomits  out  the  sneaking  crowd 
Of  flatterers  false,  and  in  their  turn  abused? 

35     Vile  intercourse  !  what  though  the  glittering  robe 
Of  every  hue  reflected  light  can  give. 
Or  floating  loose,  or  stiff  with  mazy  gold. 
The  pride  and  gaze  of  fools !  oppress  him  not  ? 


EX.  LX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  305 

What  though,  from  utmost  land  and  sea  purveyed, 

For  him  each  rarer  tributary  life 

Bleeds  not,  and  his  insatiate  table  heaps 

With  luxury  and  death  ?     What  though  his  bowl 
5     Flames  not  with  costly  juice  ;  nor  sunk  in  beds, 

Oft  of  gay  care,  he  tosses  out  the  night, 

Or  melts  the  thoughtless  hours  in  idle  state  ? 
What  though  he  knows  not  those  fantastic  joys 

T^^at  still  amuse  the  wanton,  still  deceive  • 
10     A  face  of  pleasure,  but  a  heart  of  pain ; 

Their  hollow  moments  undelighted  all  ? 

Sure  peace  is  his ;  a  solid  life,  estranged 

To  disappointment,  and  fallacious  hope : 

Rich  in  content,  in  Nature's  bounty  rich, 
15     In  herbs  and  fruits. 

Whatever  greens  the  Spring, 

When  heaven  descends  in  showers ;  or  bends  the  bough 

When  Summer  reddens,  and  when  Autumn  beams ; 

Or  in  the  wintry  glebe  whatever  lies 
20     Concealed,  and  fattens  with  the  richest  sap : 

These  are  not  wanting;  nor  the  milky  drove. 

Luxuriant,  spread  o'er  all  the  lowing  vale ; 

Nor  bleating  mountains  ;  nor  the  chide  of  streams. 

And  hum  of  bees,  inviting  sleep  sincere 
25     Into  the  guiltless  breast,  beneath  the  shade, 

Or  thrown  at  large  amid  the  fragrant  hay ; 

Nor  aught  besides  of  prospect,  grove,  or  song, 

Dim  grottoes,  gleaming  lakes,  and  fountain  clear. 
Here  too  dwells  simple  Truth ;  plain  Innocence ; 
30     Unsullied  Beauty ;  sound  unbroken  Youth, 

Patient  of  labor,  with  a  little  pleased ; 

Health  ever  blooming;  unambitious  Toil, 

Calm  Contemplation,  and  poetic  Ease. 

Let  others  brave  the  flood  in  quest  of  gain, 
35     And  beat,  for  joyless  months,  the  gloomy  wave. 

Let  such  as  deem  it  glory  to  destroy 

Rush  into  blood,  the  sack  of  cities  seek; 

Unpierced,  exulting  in  the  widow's  wail, 

The  virgin's  shriek,  and  infant's  trembling  cry. 
40     Let  some,  far  distant  from  their  native  soil 

Urged  or  by  want  or  hardened  avarice, 

Find  other  lands  beneath  another  sun. 

Let  this  through  cities  work  his  eager  way, 

By  legal  outrage  and  established  guile, 
26=*^= 


306  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxi. 

The  social  sense  extinct ;  and  that  ferment 

Mad  into  tumult  the  seditious  herd, 

Or  melt  them  down  to  slavery.     Let  these 

Insnare  the  wretched  in  the  toils  of  law, 
5     Fomenting  discord,  and  perplexing  right, 

An  iron  race  !  and  those  of  fairer  front. 

But  equal  inhumanity,  in  courts. 

Delusive  pomp  and  dark  cabals,  delight; 

Wreathe  the  deep  bow,  diffuse  the  lying  smile, 
10     And  tread  the  weary  labyrinth  of  state. 

While  he,  from  all  the  stormy  passions  free 

That  restless  men  involve,  hears,  and  but  hears, 

At  distance  safe,  the  human  tempest  roar, 

AVrapped  close  in  conscious  peace.     The  fall  of  kings, 
15     The  rage  of  nations,  and  the  crush  of  states, 

Move  not  the  man  who,  from  the  world  escaped, 

In  still  retreats,  and  flowery  solitudes, 

To  Nature's  voice  attends,  from  month  to  month 

And  day  to  day,  through  the  revolving  year : 
20     Admiring,  sees  her  in  her  every  shape  : 

Feels  all  her  sweet  emotions  at  his  heart ; 

Takes  what  she  liberal  gives,  nor  thinks  of  more. 

Thomson, 


EXERCISE  LXI. 

Hollars  Address  to  the  Peruvians. 

My  brave  associates !  partners  of  my  toils,  my  feelings 
and  my  fame  !     Can  Rolla's  words  add  vigor  to  the  virtu- 

25  ous  energies  which  inspire  your  hearts?  —  No,  —  you 
have  judged  as  I  have  the  foulness  of  the  crafty  plea  by 
which  these  bold  invaders  would  delude  ye.  Your  gener- 
ous spirit  has  compared,  as  mine  has,  the  motives  which 
in  a  war  like  this  can  animate  their  minds  and  ours. 

30  They,  by  a  strange  frenzy  driven,  fight  for  power,  for 
plunder  and  extended  rule  ;  —  we  —  for  our  country,  our 
altars  and  our  homes  !  They  follow  an  adventurer  whom 
they  fear,  and  obey  a  power  which  they  hate  ;  —  we  serve 
a  country  which  we  love,  a  God  whom  we  adore. 

35  Where'er  they  move  in  anger,  desolation  tracks  their 
progress ;  where'er  they  pause  in  amity,  affliction  mourns 
their  friendship.  They  boast  they  come  but  to  improve 
our  state,  enlarge  our  thoughts,  and  free  us  from  the  yoke 


EX.  LXII.]  RHETORICAL    READTNG.  307 

of  error.  Yes,  —  they  will  give  enlightened  freedom  to  our 
minds,  who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice 
and  pride ! 

They  offer  us  their  protection ;  —  yes,  such  protection 

5  as  vultures  give  to  lambs,  —  covering  and  devouring  them ! 

They  call  on  us  to  barter  all  of  good  we  have  inherited 

and  proved,  for  the  desperate  chance  of  something  better 

which  they  promise. 

Be  our  plain  answer  this :  The  throne  we  honor  is  the 

10  people's  choice;  the  laws  we  reverence  are  our  brave 
fathers'  legacy ;  the  faith  we  follow  teaches  us  to  live  in 
bonds  of  charity  with  all  mankind,  and  die — with  hope 
of  bliss  beyond  the  grave.  Tell  your  invaders  this ;  and 
tell  them,  too,  we  seek  no  change,  and  least  of  all  such 

15  change  as  they  would  bring  us  !  —  Sheridan. 


EXERCISE  LXn. 

Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night. 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 

Fond  memory  brings  the  light 

Of  other  days  around  me ; 
20  The  smiles,  the  tears,  of  boyhood's  years, 

The  words  of  love  then  spoken. 

The  eyes  that  shone,  now  dimmed  and  gone, 

The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken ! 

Thus  in  the  stilly  night,  &c. 
25  When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  so  linked  together, 

I've  seen  around  me  fall. 

Like  leaves  in  winter  weather, 

I  feel  like  one,  who  treads  alone 
30  Some  banquet-hall  deserted. 

Whose  lights  are  fled,  whose  garlands  dead, 

And  all  but  he  departed. 

Thus  in  the  stilly  night,  &c.       T.  Moore. 


308  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  Lxm 

EXERCISE  LXIII. 

Extract  from  a  Speech  of  Lord  Mansfield,  in  the  British 
Parliament,  in  the  year  1770. 

My  Lords,  —  I  come  now  to  speak  upon  what,  indepu, 
I  would  have  gladly  avoided,  had  I  not  been  particularly 
pointed  at  for  the  part  I  have  taken  in  this  bill.  It  has 
been  said  by  a  noble  lord  on  my  left  hand,  that  I  likewise 
am  running  the  race  of  popularity. 

5  If  the  noble  lord  means  by  popularity  that  applause 
bestowed  by  after  ages  on  good  and  virtuous  actions,  I 
have  long  been  struggling  in  that  race ;  to  what  purpose 
all-trying  time  can  alone  determine :  but  if  the  noble 
lord  means  that  mushroom  popularity  that  is  raised  with- 

10  out  merit  and  lost  without  crime,  he  is  much  mistaken  in 
his  opinion.  I  defy  the  noble  lord  to  point  out  a  single 
action  of  my  life,  where  the  popularity  of  the  times  ever 
had  the  smallest  influence  on  my  determinations. 

I  thank  God  I  have  a  more  permanent  and  steady  rule 

15  for  my  conduct,  —  the  dictates  of  my  own  breast.  Those 
that  have  foregone  that  pleasing  adviser,  and  given  up 
their  mind  to  be  the  slave  of  every  popular  impulse,  I  sin- 
cerely pity ;  I  pity  them  still  more,  if  their  vanity  leads 
them  to  mistake  the  shouts  of  a  mob  for  the  trumpet  of 

20  fame.  Experience  might  inform  them,  that  many  who 
have  been  saluted  with  the  huzzas  of  a  crowd  one  day 
have  received  their  execrations  the  next ;  and  many,  who, 
by  the  popularity  of  their  times,  have  been  held  up  as 
spotless  patriots,  have,  nevertheless,  appeared  upon  the 

25  historian's  page,  when  truth  has  triumphed  over  delusion, 
the  assassins  of  liberty. 

Why,  then,  the  noble  lord  can  think  I  am  ambitious  of 
present  popularity,  that  echo  of  folly  and  shadow  of  re- 
nown, I  am  at  a  loss  to  determine. 

30  Besides,  I  do  not  know  that  the  bill  now  before  your 
lordships  will  be  popular:  it  depends  much  upon  the 
caprice  of  the  day.  It  may  not  be  popular  to  compel  peo- 
ple to  pay  their  debts ;  and  in  that  case,  the  present  must 
be  a  very  unpopular  bill.     It  may  not  be  popular  neither 

35  to  take  away  any  of  the  privileges  of  Parliament ;  for  I 
very  well  remember,  and  many  of  your  lordships  may 
remember,  that  not  long  ago  the  popular  cry  was  for  the 
extension  of  privilege ;  and  so  far  did  they  carry  it  at 
that  time,  that  it  was  said  that  the  privilege  protected 


EX.  LHV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  309 

members  even  in  criminal  actions ;  nay,  such  was  the 
power  of  popular  prejudices  over  weak  minds,  that  the 
very  decisions  of  some  of  the  courts  were  tinctured  with 
that  doctrine. 

5  It  was  undoubtedly  an  abominable  doctrine  ;  I  thought 
so  then,  and  think  so  still :  but,  nevertheless,  it  was  a  pop- 
ular doctrine,  and  came  immediately  from  those  who  are 
called  the  friends  of  liberty;  how  deservedly,  time  will 
show.     True  liberty,  in  my  opinion,  can  only  exist  when 

10  justice  is  equally  administered  to  all ;  to  the  king,  and  to 
the  beggar. 

Where  is  the  justice,  then,  or  where  is  the  law,  that 
protects  a  member  of  Parliament,  more  than  any  other 
man,  from  the  punishment  due  to  his  crimes  ?     The  laws 

15  of  this  country  allow  of  no  place,  nor  any  employment,  to 
be  a  sanctuary  for  crimes ;  and  where  I  have  the  honor  to 
sit  as  judge,  neither  royal  favor  nor  popular  applause  shall 
ever  protect  the  guilty. 

I  have  now  only  to  beg  pardon  for  having  employed  so 

20  much  of  your  lordships'  time;  and  I  am  sorry  a  bill, 
fraught  with  so  many  good  consequences,  has  not  met 
with  an  abler  advocate ;  but  I  doubt  not  your  lordships' 
determination  will  convince  the  world,  that  a  bill,  calcu- 
lated to  contribute  so  much  to  the  equal  distribution  of  jus- 

25  tice  as  the  present,  requires  with  your  lordships  but  very 
little  support. 


EXERCISE  LXIV. 

An  Address  to  the  Deity. 

O  Thou  !  whose  balance  does  the  mountains  weigh ; 
Whose  will  the  wild  tumultuous  seas  obey ; 
Whose  breath  can  turn  those  watery  worlds  to  fiame, 

30     That  flame  to  tempest,  and  that  tempest  tame ; 
Earth's  meanest  son,  all  trembling,  prostrate  falls, 
And  on  the  bounty  of  thy  goodness  calls. 

0 !  give  the  winds  all  past  offence  to  sweep, 
To  scatter  wide,  or  bury  in  the  deep ! 

35     Thy  power,  my  weakness,  may  I  ever  see, 
And  wholly  dedicate  my  soul  to  thee  I 
Reign  o'er  my  will ;  my  passions  ebb  and  flow 
At  thy  command,  nor  human  motive  know ! 


310  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxiv. 

If  anger  boil,  let  anger  be  my  praise, 

And  sin  the  graceful  indignation  raise. 

My  love  be  warm  to  succor  the  distressed, 

And  lift  the  burden  from  the  soul  oppressed. 
5     O,  may  my  understanding  ever  read 

This  glorious  volume  which  thy  wisdom  made ! 

May  sea  and  land,  and  earth  and  heaven,  be  joined, 

To  bring  the  eternal  Author  to  my  mind ! 
When  oceans  roar,  or  awful  thunders  roll, 
10     May  thoughts  of  thy  dread  vengeance  shake  my  soul! 

When  earth  's  in  bloom,  or  planets  proudly  shine, 

Adore,  my  heart,  the  Majesty  divine ! 

Grant  I  may  ever,  at  the  morning  ray. 

Open  with  prayer  the  consecrated  day ; 
15     Tune  thy  great  praise,  and  bid  my  soul  arise. 

And  with  the  mounting  sun  ascend  the  skies ; 

As  that  advances,  let  my  zeal  improve, 

And  glow  with  ardor  of  consummate  love ; 

Nor  cease  at  eve,  but  with  the  setting  sun 
20     My  endless  worship  shall  be  still  begun  ! 

And  oh  !  permit  the  gloom  of  solemn  night 

To  sacred  thought  may  forcibly  invite. 

When  this  world  's  shut,  and  awful  planets  rise. 

Call  on  our  minds,  and  raise  them  to  the  skies ! 
25     Compose  our  souls  with  a  less  dazzling  sight, 

And  show  all  nature  in  a  milder  light : 

How  every  boisterous  thought  in  calm  subsides ; 

How  the  smoothed  spirit  into  goodness  glides ! 
Oh  how  divine !  to  tread  the  milky  way, 
30     To  the  bright  palace  of  the  Lord  of  Day ; 

His  court  admire,  or  for  his  favor  sue. 

Or  leagues  of  friendship  with  his  saints  renew ; 

Pleased  to  look  down  and  see  the  world  asleep, 

While  I  long  vigils  to  its  Founder  keep ! 
35         Canst  thou  not  shake  the  centre  ?     Oh  control, 

Subdue  by  force,  the  rebel  in  my  soul ; 

Thou,  who  canst  still  the  raging  of  the  flood, 

Restrain  the  various  tumults  of  my^blood; 

Teach  me  with  equal  firmness  to  sustain 
40     Alluring  pleasure  and  assaulting  pain. 

O  may  I  pant  for  thee  in  each  desire ! 

And  with  strong  faith  foment  the  holy  fire ! 

Stretch  out  my  soul  in  hope,  and  grasp  the  prize 

Which  in  eternity's  deep  bosom  lies ! 


EX.  LTV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  311 

At  the  great  day  of  recompense,  behold, 
Devoid  of  fear,  the  fatal  book  unfold ! 
Then  wafted  upward  to  the  blissful  seat, 
From  age  to  age  my  grateful  song  repeat ; 
5     My  Light,  my  Life,  my  God,  my  Saviour  see. 

And  rival  angels  in  the  praise  of  thee  I  Young. 


EXERCISE  LXV. 

Cause  of  Differences  in  Opinion. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  human  mind  not  to  be  willing 
to  wait  long  in  suspense  on  any  question  presented  to  it 
for  decision.     When  any  new  question  or  new  subject 

10  comes  before  us,  we  grasp  hastily  at  the  little  information 
in  regard  to  it  within  our  immediate  reach,  and  then  hurry 
to  a  decision.  We  are  not  often  willing  to  wait  to  consid- 
er whether  the  subject  is  fairly  within  the  grasp  of  our 
powers,  and  whether  all  the  facts  which  are  important  to 

15  a  proper  consideration  of  it  are  before  us.     We  decide  at 

once.     It  is  not  pleasant  to  be   in  suspense.     Suspense 

implies  ignorance,  and  to  admit  ignorance  is  humiliating. 

Hence  most  persons  have  a  settled  belief  upon  almost 

every  question  which  has  been  brought  before  them.     In 

20  expressing  their  opinions  they  mention  things  which  they 
believe,  and  things  which  they  do  not  believe ;  but  very 
few  people  have  a  third  class  of  questions,  which  they  ac- 
knowledge to  be  beyond  their  grasp,  so  that  in  regard  to 
them  they  can  neither  believe  nor  disbelieve,  but  must 

25  remain  in  suspense. 

Now  this  is  the  secret  of  nine  tenths  of  the  difference 
of  opinion,  and  of  the  sharp  disputes  by  which  this  world 
is  made  so  noisy  a  scene.  Men  jump  at  conclusions  be- 
fore they  distinctly  understand  the  premises ;  and  as  each 

30  one  sees  only  a  part  of  what  he  ought  to  see  before  form- 
ing his  opinion,  it  is  not  surprising  that  each  should  see  a 
different  part,  and  should  consequently  be  led  to  different 
results.  They  then  fall  into  a  dispute,  each  presenting  his 
own  partial  view,  and  shutting  his  eyes  to  that  exhibited 

35  by  his  opponent. 

Some  of  the  mistakes  which  men  thus  fall  into  are  mel- 
ancholy ;  others  only  ludicrous.  Some  European  traveller 
showed  a  map  of  the  world  to  a  Chinese  philosopher.    The 


312  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxvi. 

philosopher  looked  at  it  a  few  moments,  and  then  turned, 

with  proud  and  haughty  look,  and  said  to  the  bystanders, 

"  This  map  is  entirely  wrong ;  the  English  know  nothing 

of  geography.     They  have  got  China  out  upon  one  side 

5  of  the  world,  whereas  it  is,  in  fact,  exactly  in  the  middle." 

Multitudes  of  amusing  stories  are  related  by  travellers 

of  the  mistakes  and  misconceptions  and  false  reasonings 

of  semi-barbarous  people,  about  the  subjects  of  European 

science  and  philosophy.     They  go  to  reasoning  at  once, 

10  and  fall  into  the  grossest  errors ;  but  still  they  have  much 

more  confidence  in  their  silly  speculations  than  in  any 

evidence  which  their  minds  are  capable  of  receiving. 

Abbott, 


EXERCISE  LXVI. 
The  Last  Rose  of  Summer. 

'T  IS  the  last  rose  of  summer, 

Left  blooming  alone ; 
15  All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone ; 

No  flower  of  her  kindred. 

No  rose-bud,  is  nigh, 

To  reflect  back  her  blushes, 
20  Or  give  sigh  for  sigh  ! 

1  1  '11  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one ! 

To  pine  on  the  stem ; 

Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping, 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them ; 
25  Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  thy  bed, 

Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 
So  soon  may  I  follow ; 
30  When  friendships  decay. 

And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away ! 

When  true  hearts  lie  withered, 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
35  Oh !  who  would  inhabit 

This  bleak  world  alone  ?      T.  Moore. 


EX.  LXVU.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  313 

EXERCISE  LXVIl. 

On  the  Importance  of  Order  in  the  Distribution  of  Time. 

Time  we  ought  to  consider  as  a  sacred  trust,  committed 
to  us  by  God ;  of  which  we  are  now  the  depositories,  and 
are  to  render  an  account  at  the  last.  That  portion  of  it 
which  he  has  allotted  to  us  is  intended  partly  for  the  con- 
5  cerns  of  this  world,  partly  for  those  of  the  next.  Let  each 
of  these  occupy,  in  the  distribution  of  our  time,  that  space 
which  properly  belongs  to  it. 

Let  not  the  hours  of  hospitality  and  pleasure  interfere 
with  the  discharge  of  our  necessary  affairs ;   and  let  not 

10  what  we  call  necessary  affairs  encroach  upon  the  time 
which  is  due  to  devotion.  To  everything  there  is  a  season, 
and  a  time  for  every  purpose  under  heaven.  If  we  delay 
till  to-morrow  what  ought  to  be  done  to-day,  we  overcharge 
the  morrow  with  a  burden  which  belongs  not  to  it.     We 

15  load  the  wheels  of  time,  and  prevent  them  from  carrying 
us  along  smoothly. 

He  who  every  mornmg  plans  the  transactions  of  the  day, 
and  follows  out  that  plan,  carries  on  a  thread  which  will 
guide  him  through  the  labyrinth  of  the  most  busy  life. 

JiO  The  orderly  arrangement  of  his  time  is  like  a  ray  of  light, 
which  darts  itself  through  all  his  affairs.  But  where  no 
plan  is  laid,  where  the  disposal  of  time  is  surrendered 
merely  to  the  chance  of  incidents,  all  things  lie  huddled 
together  in  one  chaos,  which  admits  neithep  of  distribution 

25  nor  review. 

The  first  requisite  for  introducmg  order  into  the  man- 
agement of  time  is  to  be  impressed  with  a  just  sense  of 
its  value.  Let  us  consider  well  how  much  depends  upon 
it,  and  how  fast  it  flies  away.     The  bulk  of  men  are  in 

30  nothing  more  capricious  and   inconsistent  than   in   their 

appreciation   of  time.      When    they  think  of  it   as  the 

measure  of  their  continuance  on  earth,  they  highly  prize 

it,  and  with  the  greatest  anxiety  seek  to  lengthen  it  out. 

But  when  they  view  it  in  separate  parcels,  thc)'^  appear 

35  to  hold  it  in  contempt,  and  squander  it  with  inconsiderate 
profusion.  While  they  complain  that  life  is  short,  they 
are  often  wishing  its  different  periods  at  an  end.  Covetous 
of  e\QTy  other  possession,  of  time  only  they  are  prodigal. 
They  allow  every  idle  man  to  be  master  of  this  property, 

40  and  make  every  frivolous  occupation  welcome   that  can 
help  them  to  consume  it 
27 


314  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxviii. 

Among  those  who  are  so  careless  of  time,  it  is  not  to  be 
expected  that  order  should  be  observed  in  its  distribution. 
But,  by  this  fatal  neglect,  how  many  materials  of  severe 
and  lasting  regret  are  they  laying  up  in  store  for  them- 
5  selves !  The  time  which  they  suffer  to  pass  away  in  the 
midst  of  confusion,  bitter  repentance  seeks  afterwards  in 
vain  to  recall.  What  was  omitted  to  be  done  at  its  proper 
moment,  arises  to  be  the  torment  of  some  future  season. 
Manhood  is  disgraced  by  the  consequences  of  neglected 

10  youth.  Old  age,  oppressed  by  cares  that  belonged  to  a 
former  period,  labors  under  a  burden  not  its  own.  At  the 
close  of  life,  the  dying  man  beholds  with  anguish  that  his 
days  are  finishing,  when  his  preparation  for  eternity  is 
hardly  commenced.     Such  are  the  effects  of  a  disorderly 

15  waste  of  time,  through  not  attending  to  its  value.     Every- 
thing in  the  life  of  such  persons  is  misplaced.     Nothing  is 
performed  aright,  from  not  being  performed  in  due  season. 
But  he  who  is  orderly  in  the  distribution  of  his  time 
takes  the  proper  method  of  escaping  those  manifold  evils. 

20  He  is  justly  said  to  redeem  the  time.  By  proper  manage- 
ment he  prolongs  it.  He  lives  much  in  little  space  ;  more 
in  a  few  years  than  others  do  in  many.  He  can  live  to 
God  and  his  own  soul,  and  at  the  same  time,  attend  to  all 
the  lawful  interests  of  the  present  world.     He  looks  back 

25  on  the  past,  and  provides  for  the  future. 

He  catches  and  arrests  the  hours  as  they  fly.  They  are 
marked  down  for  useful  purposes,  and  their  memory  re- 
mains. Whereas  those  hours  fleet  by  the  man  of  confu- 
sion like  a  shadow.     His  days  and  years  are  either  blanks, 

*J0  of  which  he  has  no  remembrance,  or  they  are  fiUed  up 
with  so  confused  and  irregular  a  succession  of  unfinished 
transactions,  that  though  he  remembers  he  has  been  busy, 
yet  he  can  give  no  account  of  the  business  which  has 
employed  him.  —  Blair. 


EXERCISE  LXVm. 

The  Katydid. 

35  I  LOVE  to  hear  thine  earnest  voice, 

Wherever  thou  art  hid. 
Thou  testy  little  dogmatist, 
Thou  pretty  Katydid ' 


EX.  LXVm.]  KIIKTORICAL   KEADLNG.  31ft 

Thou  'mindest  me  of  gentlefolks, — 

Old  gentlefolks  are  they, — 

Thou  say'st  an  undisputed  thing 

In  such  a  solemn  way. 
5  Thou  art  a  female.  Katydid ! 

I  know  it  by  the  trill 

That  quivers  through  thy  piercing  notes, 

So  petulant  and  shrill. 

I  think  there  is  a  knot  of  you 
10  Beneath  the  hollow  tree, — 

A  knot  of  spinster  Katydids,  — 

Do  Katydids  drink  tea  ? 

Oh,  tell  me  where  did  Katy  live, 

And  what  did  Katy  do  ? 
15  And  was  she  very  fair  and  young, 

And  yet  so  wicked  too  ? 

Did  Katy  love  a  naughty  man. 

Or  kiss  more  cheeks  than  one  ? 

I  warrant  Katy  did  no  more 
20  Than  many  a  Kate  has  done. 

Dear  me  I    I  '11  tell  you  all  about 

My  fuss  with  little  Jane, 

And  Ann,  with  whom  I  used  to  walk 

So  often  down  the  lane, 
25  And  all  that  tore  their  locks  of  black. 

Or  wet  their  eyes  of  blue, — 

Pray  tell  me,  sweetest  Katydid, 

What  did  poor  Katy  do  ? 

Ah  no  I   the  living  oak  shall  crash, 
30  That  stood  for  ages  still. 

The  rock  shall  rend  its  mossy  base, 

And  thunder  down  the  hill, 

Before  the  little  Katydid 

Shall  add  one  word,  to  tell 
35  The  mystic  story  of  the  maid 

Whose  name  she  knows  so  well. 
Peace  to  the  ever-murmuring  race ! 

And  when  the  latest  one 

Shall  fold  in  death  her  feeble  wings, 
40  Beneath  the  autumn  sun, 

Then  shall  she  raise  her  fainting  voice, 

And  lift  her  drooping  lid, 

And  then  the  child  of  future  years 

Shall  learn  what  Katy  did.     O.  W.  Holmes. 


)16  PARKER'S   EXERCISES    IN  [eX.   LXIX. 

EXERCISE  LXIX. 

Conclusion  of  an  Address  to  President   Washington,  in 
allusion  to  his  retiring  from  office. 

Sir,  while  we  entertain  a  grateful  conviction  that  your 
wise,  firm,  and  patriotic  administration  has  been  signally 
conducive  to  the  success  of  the  present  form  of  government, 
we  cannot  forbear  to  express  the  deep  sensations  of  regret 
5  with  which  we  contemplate  your  intended  retirement  from 
office. 

As  no  other  suitable  occasion  may  occur,  we  cannot  suf- 
fer the  present  to  pass  without  attempting  to  disclose  some 
of  the  emotions  which  it  cannot  fail  to  awaken. 

10  The  gratitude  and  admiration  of  your  countrymen  are 
still  drawn  to  the  recollection  of  those  resplendent  virtues 
and  talents  which  were  so  eminently  instrumental  to  the 
achievement  of  the  Revolution,  and  of  which  that  glorious 
event  will  ever  be  the  memorial.     Your  obedience  to  the 

15  voice  of  duty  and  your  country,  when  you  quitted  reluct- 
antly, a  second  time,  the  retreat  you  had  chosen,  and  first 
accepted  the  presidency,  afforded  a  new  proof  of  the  de- 
votedness  of  your  zeal  in  its  service,  and  an  earnest  of  the 
patriotism  and  success  which  has  characterized  your  admin- 

20  istration.  As  the  grateful  confidence  of  the  citizens  in  the 
virtues  of  their  chief  magistrate  has  essentially  contributed 
to  that  success,  we  persuade  ourselves  that  the  millions 
whom  we  represent  participate  with  us  in  the  anxious 
solicitude  of  the  present  occasion. 

25  Yet  we  cannot  be  unmindful  that  your  moderation  and 
magnanimity,  twice  displayed  by  retiring  from  your  exalted 
stations,  aflford  examples  no  less  rare  and  instructive  to 
mankind  than  valuable  to  a  republic. 

Although  we   are    sensible   that   this  event,  of  itself, 

30  completes  the  lustre  of  a  character  already  conspicuously 
unrivalled  by  the  coincidence  of  virtue,  talents,  success, 
and  public  estimation,  yet  we  conceive  we  owe  it  to  you,  sir, 
and  still  more  emphatically  to  ourselves,  and  to  our  nation, 
(of  the  language  of  whose  hearts  we  presume  to  think 

35  ourselves  at  this  moment  the  faithful  interpreters,)  to  ex- 
press the  sentiments  with  which  it  is  contemplated. 

The  spectacle  of  a  free  and  enlightened  nation  offering 
by  its  representatives  the  tribute  of  unfeigned  approbation 
to  its  first  citizen,  however  novel  and  interesting  it  may  be, 

40  derives  all  its  lustre  (a  lustre  which  accident  or  enthusiasm 


EX.  LXX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  317 

coula  not  bestow,  and  which  adulation  would  tarnish,) 
from  the  transcendent  merit  of  which  it  is  the  voluntary- 
testimony. 

May  you  long  enjoy  that  liberty  which  is  so  dear  to 

5  you,  and  to  which  your  name  will  ever  be  so  dear.  May 
your  own  virtues  and  a  nation's  prayers  obtain  the  happiest 
sunshine  for  the  decline  of  your  days,  and  the  choicest  of 
future  blessings.  For  our  country's  sake,  for  the  sake  of 
republican  liberty,  it  is  our  earnest  wish  that  your  example 

10  may  be  the  guide  of  your  successors,  and  thus,  after  being 
the  ornament  and  safeguard  of  the  present  age,  become 
the  patrimony  of  our  descendants.  —  Fisher  Ames. 


EXERCISE  LXX. 
The  Frost. 

The  Frost  looked  forth  one  still,  clear  night, 

And  whispered,  "  Now  I  shall  be  out  of  sight ; 
15     So,  through  the  valley,  and  over  the  height, 

In  silence  I  '11  take  my  way. 

I  will  not  go  on  like  that  blustering  train  — 

The  wind,  and  the  snow,  the  hail  and  the  rain, 

Who  make  so  much  bustle  and  noise  in  vain ; 
20     But  I  '11  be  as  busy  as  they." 

Then  he  flew  to  the  mountain  and  powdered  its  crest 

He  lit  on  the  trees,  and  their  boughs  he  dressed 

In  diamond  beads ;  and  over  the  breast 

Of  the  quivering  lake  he  spread 
25     A  coat  of  mail,  that  it  need  not  fear 

The  downward  point  of  many  a  spear, 

That  he  hung  on  its  margin  far  and  near, 

Where  a  rock  could  rear  its  head. 

He  went  to  the  windows  of  those  who  slept, 
30     And  over  each  pane  like  a  fairy  he  crept ; 

Wherever  he  breathed,  wherever  he  stepped, 

By  the  light  of  the  moon  were  seen 

Most  beautiful  things ;  there  were  flowers  and  trees ; 

There  were  bevies  of  birds,  and  swarms  of  bees ; 
35     There  were  cities,  with  temples  and  towers ;  and  these 

All  pictured  in  silver  sheen. 

But  he  did  one  thing  that  was  hardly  fair, — 

He  peeped  in  the  cupboard,  and  finding  there 

That  all  had  forgotten  for  him  to  prepare, 
21* 


318  PARKER'S    EXERCISES    IN  [EX.  T.TTT. 

"  Now  just  to  set  them  thinking, 
I  '11  bite  this  basket  of  fruit,"  said  he ; 
"  This  costly  pitcher  I  '11  burst  in  three ; 
And  the  glass  of  water  they  've  left  for  me 
5     Shall  '  tchick,'  to  tell  them  I  'm  drinking." 

H.  F,  Gould. 


EXERCISE  LXXI. 

Character  of  Lord  Chatham. 

The  secretary  stood  alone.  Modern  degeneracy  had 
not  reached  him.  Original  and  unaccommodating,  the 
features  of  his  character  had  the  hardihood  of  antiquity. 
His  august  mind  overawed  majesty,  and  one  of  his  sover- 

10  eigns  thought  royalty  so  impaired  in  his  presence,  that  he 
conspired  to  remove  him,  in  order  to  be  relieved  from  his 
superiority. 

No  state  chicanery,  no  narrow  system  of  vicious  politics, 
no  idle  contest  for  ministerial  victories,  sunk  him  to  the 

15  vulgar  level  of  the  great:  but  overbearing,  persuasive, 
and  impracticable,  his  object  was  England,  his  ambition 
was  fame.  Without  dividing,  he  destroyed  party ;  with- 
out corrupting,  he  made  a  venal  age  unanimous.  France 
sunk  beneath  him.     With  one  hand  he  smote  the  house 

20  of  Bourbon,  and  wielded  in  the  other  the  democracy  of 
England. 

The  sight  of  his  mind  was  infinite ;  and  his  schemes 
were  to  affect,  not  England,  not  the  present  age  only,  but 
Europe  and  posterity.     Wonderful  were  the  means  by 

25  which  these  schemes  were  accomplished;  always  season- 
able, always  adequate,  the  suggestions  of  an  understand- 
ing animated  by  ardor,  and  enlightened  by  prophecy. 

The  ordinary  feelings  which  make  life  amiable  and  in- 
dolent were  unknown  to  him.     No  domestic  difficulties, 

30  no  domestic  weakness,  reached  him ;  but  aloof  from  the 
sordid  occurrences  of  life,  and  unsullied  by  its  intercourse, 
he  came  occasionally  into  our  system,  to  counsel  and  to 
decide. 

A  character  so  exalted,  so  strenuous,  so  various,  so  au- 

35  thoritative,  astonished  a  corrupt  age,  and  the  treasury 
trembled  at  the  name  of  Pitt  through  all  her  classes  of 
venality.  Corruption  imagined,  indeed,  that  she  had  found 
defects  in  this  statesman,  and  talked  much  of  the  incon- 


EX.  LXXIl.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  319 

sistency  of  his  glory,  and  much  of  the  ruin  of  his  victo- 
ries ;  but  the  history  of  his  country  and  the  calamities  of 
the  enemy  answered  and  refuted  her. 

Nor  were  his  political  abilities  his  only  talents  :  his  elo- 

5  quence  was  an  era  in  the  senate,  peculiar  and  spontane- 
ous, familiarly  expressing  gigantic  sentiments  and  instinct- 
ive wisdom ;  not  like  the  torrent  of  Demosthenes,  or  the 
splendid  conflagration  of  Tully  ;  it  resembled  sometimes 
the  thunder,  and  sometimes  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

10  Like  Murray,  he  did  not  conduct  the  understanding 
through  the  painful  subtilty  of  argumentation ;  nor  was 
he,  like  Townshend,  forever  on  the  rack  of  exertion ;  but 
rather  lightened  upon  the  subject,  and  reached  the  point 
by  the  flashings  of  the  mind,  which,  like  those  of  his  eye, 

15  were  felt,  but  could  not  be  followed. 

Upon  the  whole,  there  was  in  this  man  something  that 
could  create,  subvert,  or  reform;  an  understanding,  a 
spirit,  and  an  eloquence,  to  summon  mankind  to  society, 
or  to  break  the  bonds  of  slavery  asunder,  and  to  rule  the 

20  wilderness  of  free  minds  with  unbounded  authority;  some- 
thing that  could  establish  or  overwhelm  empire,  and  strike 
a  blow  in  the  world  that  should  resound  through  the  uni- 
verse.—  Grattan. 


EXERCISE  LXXn. 

CardiTial  Wolsey  and  Cromwell. 

Wolsey.   Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness ' 
25  This  is  the  state  of  man ;  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope  ;  to-morrow  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him; 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost. 
And  when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surely 
30  His  greatness  is  a  ripening,  nips  his  shoot  — 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventured. 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
These  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory ; 
But  far  beyond  my  depth ;  my  high-blown  pride 
35  At  length  broke  under  me ;  and  now  has  left  me. 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  forever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  the  world,  I  hate  ye ! 
I  feel  my  heart  new  opened.     Oh  how  wretched 


320  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  Lxxn. 

Is  that  poor  man  who  hangs  on  princes'  favors ! 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  he  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  regard  of  princes,  and  his  ruin. 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  war  or  women  have  ; 
5     And  when  he  falls, he  falls  like  Lucifer, 

Never  to  hope  again.  [Enter  Cromwell.) 

Why,  how  now,  Cromwell  ? 

Cromwell.     I  have  no  power  to  speak,  sir. 
Wol.     What!  amazed 
10  At  my  misfortunes  ?     Can  thy  spirit  wonder 
A  great  man  should  decline  ?     Nay,  if  you  weep, 
I  'm  fallen  indeed. 

Crom.     How  does  your  grace  ? 
^Wol     Why,  well; 
15  Never  so  truly  happy,  my  good  Cromwell. 
I  know  myself  now,  and  I  feel  within  me 
A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities ; 
A  still  and  quiet  conscience.     The  king  has  eased  me. 
I  humbly  thank  his  grace :  and,  from  these  shoulders, 
20  These  ruined  pillars,  out  of  pity  taken 
A  load  would  sink  a  navy,  too  much  honor. 
Oh,  'tis  a  burden,  Cromwell,  't  is  a  burden, 
Too  heavy  for  a  man  that  hopes  for  heaven! 

Crom.  I  'm  glad  your  grace  has  made  that  right  use  of  it. 
25       Wol.     I  hope  I  have.     I  'm  able  now,  methinks. 
Out  of  a  fortitude  of  soul  I  feel, 
To  endure  more  miseries,  and  greater  far, 
Than  my  weak-hearted  enemies  dare  offer. 
What  news  abroad  ? 
oO       Crom.     The  heaviest  and  the  worst 
Is  your  displeasure  with  the  king. 
Wol.     God  bless  him  ! 

Crom..  The  next  is  that  Sir  Thomas  More  is  chosen 
Lord  Chancellor  in  your  place. 

35        Wol.     That 's  somewhat  sudden 

But  he  's  a  learned  man.     May  he  continue 
Long  in  his  highness'  favor,  and  do  justice. 
For  truth's  sake  and  his  conscience ;  that  his  bones. 
When  he  has  run  his  course,  and  sleeps  in  blessings, 
40  May  have  a  tomb  of  orphan's  tears  wept  over  him ! 
What  more  ? 

Crom.     That  Cranmer  is  returned  with  welcome ; 
Installed  Lord  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
Wol.     That 's  news,  indeed ! 


EX.  LXXn.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  321 

Crom.     Last,  that  the  Lady  Anne, 
Whom  the  king  hath  in  secrecy  long  married, 
This  day  was  viewed  in  open  as  his  queen, 
Going  to  chapel ;  and  the  voice  is  now 

5     Only  about  her  coronation. 

Wol.     There  was  the  weight  that  pulled  me  down,  O 
Cromwell ! 
The  king  has  gone  beyond  me  :  all  my  glories 
In  that  one  woman  I  have  lost  forever. 

10  No  sun  shall  ever  usher  forth  my  honors. 
Or  gild  again  the  noble  troops  that  waited 
Upon  my  smiles.     Go,  get  thee  from  me,  Cromwell ! 
I  am  a  poor  fallen  man,  unworthy  now 
To  be  thy  lord  and  master  ;  seek  the  king  — 

15  (That  sun  I  pray  may  never  set !)  —  I  've  told  him 
What  and  how  true  thou  art :  he  will  advance  thee : 
Some  little  memory  of  me  will  stir  him 
(I  know  his  noble  nature)  not  to  let 
Thy  hopeful  service  perish  too.     Good  Cromwell, 

20  Neglect  him  not ;  make  use  now,  and  provide 
For  thine  own  future  safety. 

Crom.     O  my  lord  ! 
Must  I  then  leave  you  ?     Must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so  noble,  and  so  true  a  master? 

25  Bear  witness  all  ye  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron. 
With  what  a  sorrow  Cromwell  leaves  his  lord! 
The  king  shall  have  my  service ;  but  my  prayers, 
Forever  and  forever,  shall  be  yours. 

Wol.     Cromwell  —  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 

30  In  all  my  miseries  —  but  thou  hast  forced  me. 

Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman 

Let 's  dry  our  eyes,  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 

And  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be. 

And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 

35  Of  me  must  more  be  heard  — say  then,  I  taught  thee  • 
Say,  Wolsey,  that  once  rode  the  waves  of  glory, 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor, 
Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in ; 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  missed  it. 

40  Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  which  ruined  me. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition  : 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels :  how  can  man,  then, 
(Though  the  image  of  his  Maker,)  hope  to  win  by  it? 
Love  thyself  last:  cherish  those  hearts  that  wait  thee  * 

45  Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 


322  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  Lxxm. 

Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not. 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's  and  truth's  ;  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  O  Cromwell, 

5  Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr.     Serve  the  king 

And  prithee  lead  me  in 

There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have : 
To  the  last  penny,  't  is  the  king's.     My  robe, 
And  my  integrity  to  Heaven,  is  all 
10  I  dare  now  call  my  own.     0  Cromwell,  CromweU 
Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  king,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies ! 
Crom.   Good  sir,  have  patience. 
15       Wol.    So  I  have.     Farewell 

The  hopes  of  court !  —  My  hopes  in  heaven  do  dwell. 

Shakspeare 


EXERCISE  LXXIII. 
Resurrection. 

From  1  Corinthians,  Chapter  XV. 

Moreover,  brethren,  I  declare  unto  you  the  gospel  whicn 
I  preached  unto  you,  which  also  ye  have  received,  and 
wherein  ye  stand  ;  by  which  also  ye  are  saved,  if  ye  keep 

20  in  memory  what  I  preached  unto  you,  unless  ye  have 
believed  in  vain. 

For  I  delivered  unto  you  first  of  all  that  which  I  also 
received,  how  that  Christ  died  for  our  sins  according  to  the 
scriptures  ;  and  that  he  was  buried,  and  that  he  rose  again 

25  the  third  day,  according  to  the  scriptures  ;  and  that  he  was 
seen  of  Cephas,  then  of  the  twelve.  After  that  he  was 
seen  of  above  five  hundred  brethren  at  once  ;  of  whom  the 
greater  part  remain  unto  this  present,  but  some  are  fallen 
asleep. 

30  After  that  he  was  seen  of  James  ;  then  of  all  the  apos- 
tles ;  and  last  of  all  he  was  seen  of  me  also,  as  of  one  born 
out  of  due  time.  For  I  am  the  least  of  the  apostles,  that 
I  am  not  meet  to  be  called  an  apostle,  because  I  persecuted 
the  church  of  God.     But  by  the  grace  of  God  I  am  what 

35  I  am  ;  and  his  grace  which  was  bestowed  upon  me  was  not 
in  vain  ;  but  I  labored  more  abundantly  than  they  all :  yet 
not  I,  but  the  grace  of  God  which  was  with  me.     There- 


EX.  LXXIII.J  RHETORICAL    READING.  323 

fore,  whether  it  were  I  or  they,  so  we  preach,  and  so  ye 
believed. 

Now  if  Christ  be  preached  that  he  rose  from  the  dead, 
how  say  some  among  you  that  there  is  no  resurrection  of 
5  the  dead  ?  But  if  there  be  no  resurrection  of  the  dead, 
then  is  Christ  not  risen.  And  if  Christ  be  not  risen,  then 
is  our  preaching  vain,  and  your  faith  is  also  vain.  Yea, 
and  we  are  found  false  witnesses  of  God  ;  because  we  have 
testified  of  God  that  he  raised  up  Christ :  whom  he  raised 

10  not  up,  if  so  be  that  the  dead  rise  not.  For  if  the  dead 
rise  not,  then  is  not  Christ  raised  :  and  if  Christ  be  not 
raised,  your  faith  is  vain  ;  ye  are  yet  in  your  sins.  Then 
they  also  which  are  fallen  asleep  in  Christ  are  perished. 
If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ,  we  are  of  all 

15  men  most  miserable. 

But  now  is  Christ  risen  from  the  dead,  and  become  the 
first  fruits  of  them  that  slept.  For  since  by  man  came 
death,  by  man  came  also  the  resurrection  of  the  dead. 
For  as  in  Adam  all  die,  even  so  is  Christ  shall  all  be  made 

20  alive. 

But  every  man  in  his  own  order :  Christ  the  first  fruits ; 
afterward  they  that  are  Christ's  at  his  coming.  Then 
Cometh  the  end,  when  he  shall  have  delivered  up  the  king- 
dom to  God,  even  the  Father ;  when  he  shall  have  put 

25  down  all  rule,  and  all  authority,  and  power.  For  he  must 
reign,  till  he  hath  put  all  enemies  under  his  feet.  The 
last  enemy  that  shall  be  destroyed  is  death.  For  he  hath 
put  all  things  under  his  feet. 

But  when  he  saith,  all  things  are  put  under  him,  it  is 

30  manifest  that  he  is  excepted  which  did  put  all  things  under 

him.     And  when  all  things  shall  be  subdued  unto  him, 

then  shall  the  Son  also  himself  be  subject  unto  him  that 

put  all  things  under  him,  that  God  may  be  all  in  all. 

Else  what  shall  they  do  which  are  baptized  for  the  dead, 

35  if  the  dead  rise  not  at  all  ?  why  are  they  then  baptized  for 
the  dead  ?  and  why  stand  we  in  jeopardy  every  hour  ?  I 
protest  by  your  rejoicing,  which  I  have,  in  Christ  Jesus 
our  Lord,  I  die  daily.  If  after  the  manner  of  men  I  have 
fought  with  beasts,  at  Ephesus,  what  advantageth  it  me 

40  if  the  dead  rise  not  ?  let  us  eat  and  drink ;  for  to-morrow 
we  die. 

Be  not  deceived ;  evil  communications  corrupt  good  man- 
ners. Awake  to  righteousness,  and  sin  not ;  for  some  have 
not  the  knowledge  of  God.     I  speak  this  to  your  shame. 


324  pakker's  exercises  tn  [ex.  Lxxm. 

But  some  man  will  say,  How  are  the  dead  raised  up  ? 
and  with  what  body  do  they  come  ?  Thou  fool,  that  which 
thou  sowest  is  not  quickened,  except  it  die.  And  that 
which  thou  sowest,  thou  sowest  not  that  body  that  shall 
5  be,  but  bare  grain  ;  it  may  chance  of  wheat,  or  of  some 
other  grain  :  but  God  giveth  it  a  body  as  it  ha-th  pleased 
him,  and  to  every  seed  his  own  body. 

All  flesh  is  not  the  same  flesh :  but  there  is  one  kind  of 
flesh  of  men,  another  flesh  of  beasts,  another  of  fishes,  and 

10  another  of  birds.  There  are  also  celestial  bodies,  and  bod- 
ies terrestrial :  but  the  glory  of  the  celestial  is  one,  and  the 
glory  of  the  terrestrial  is  another. 

There  is  one  glory  of  the  sun,  and  another  glory  of  the 
moon,  and  another  glory  of  the  stars  :  for  one  star  diflereth 

15  from  another  star  in  glory.  So  also  is  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead  :  it  is  sown  in  corruption,  it  is  raised  in  incorrup- 
tion  :  it  is  sown  in  dishonor,  it  is  raised  in  glory  :  it  is  sown 
m  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power :  it  is  sown  a  natural 
body,  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body. 

20  There  is  a  natural  body,  and  there  is  a  spiritual  body. 
And  so  it  is  written.  The  first  man  Adam  was  made  a  liv- 
ing soul,  the  last  Adam  was  made  a  quickening  spirit. 
Howbeit,  that  was  not  first  which  is  spiritual,  but  that 
which  is  natural;   and  afterward  that  which  is  spiritual. 

25  The  first  man  is  of  the  earth,  earthy;  the  second  man  is 
the  Lord  from  heaven.  As  is  the  earthy,  such  are  they 
also  that  are  earthy  ;  and  as  is  the  heavenly,  such  are  they 
also  that  are  heavenly.  And  as  we  have  borne  the  image 
of  the  earthy,  we  shall  also  bear  the  image  of  the  heavenly. 

30  Now  this  I  say,  brethren,  that  flesh  and  blood  cannot 
inherit  the  kingdom  of  God ;  neither  doth  corruption  inherit 
incorruption.  Behold,  I  show  you  a  mystery :  We  shall 
not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be  changed  in  a  moment,  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trump  ;  for  the  trumpet 

35  shall  sound ;  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised  incorruptible,  and 
we  shall  be  changed.  For  this  corruptible  must  put  on 
incorruption,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality. 

So  when  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incorruption, 
and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality,  then  shall 

40  be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written,  Death  is 
swallowed  up  in  victory.  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ? 
O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  The  sting  of  death  is  sin, 
and  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law.  But  thanks  be  to  God 
which  giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 


EX.  LXXrV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  325 

Therefore,  my  beloved  brethren,  be  ye  steadfast,  unmov- 
able,  always  abounding  in  the  work  of  the  Lord,  forasmuch 
as  ye  know  that  your  labor  is  not  in  vain  in  the  Lord. 


EXERCISE    LXXIV. 
Selfishness  Reproved. 

Has  God,  thou  fool !  worked  solely  for  thy  good, 
5     Thy  joy,  thy  pastime,  thy  attire,  thy  food  ? 

Who  for  thy  table  feeds  the  wanton  fawn. 

For  him  as  kindly  spreads  the  flowery  lawn. 

Is  it  for  thee  the  lark  ascends  and  sings  ? 

Joy  tunes  his  voice,  joy  elevates  his  wings. 
10         Is  it  for  thee  the  linnet  pours  his  throat  ? 

Loves  of  his  own,  and  raptures,  swell  the  note. 

The  bounding  steed  you  pompously  bestride 

Shares  with  his  lord  the  pleasure  and  the  pride. 

Is  thine  alone  the  seed  that  strews  the  plain  ? 
15     The  birds  of  heaven  shall  vindicate  their  grain. 

Thine  the  full  harvest  of  the  golden  year  ? 

Part  pays,  and  justly,  the  deserving  steer. 

The  hog  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy  call. 

Lives  on  the  labors  of  this  lord  of  all. 
20         Know,  Nature's  children  all  divide  her  care  j 

The  fur  that  warms  a  monarch  warmed  a  bear. 

While  man  exclaims,  "  See  all  things  for  my  use ! 

"  See  man  for  mine  !  "  replies  a  pampered  goose 

And  just  as  short  of  reason  he  must  fall 
25     Who  thinks  all  made  for  one,  not  one  for  all. 

Grant  that  the  powerful  still  the  weak  control 

Be  man  the  wit  and  tyrant  of  the  whole  : 

Nature  that  tyrant  checks  ;  he  only  knows, 

And  helps  another  creature's  wants  and  woes. 
30         Say,  will  the  falcon,  stooping  from  above, 

Smit  with  her  varying  plumage,  spare  the  dove  ? 

Admires  the  jay  the  insect's  gilded  wings  ? 

Or  hears  the  hawk  when  Philomela  sings  ? 

Man  cares  for  all :  to  birds  he  gives  his  woods, 
35     To  beasts  his  pastures,  and  to  fish  his  floods  ; 

For  some  his  interest  prompts  him  to  provide. 

For  more  his  pleasures,  yet  for  more  his  pride. 

All  feed  on  one  vain  patron,  and  enjoy 

The  extensive  blessing  of  his  luxury. 
28 


326  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxv 

That  very  life  his  learned  hunger  craves 
He  saves  from  famine,  from  the  savage  saves ; 
Nay,  feasts  the  animal  he  dooms  his  feast ; 
And,  till  he  ends  the  being,  makes  it  blest : 
5  Which  sees  no  more  the  stroke,  nor  feels  the  pain, 
Than  favored  man  by  touch  ethereal  slain. 
The  creature  had  his  feast  of  life  before ; 
Thou  too  must  perish,  when  thy  feast  is  o'er !      Pope. 


EXERCISE  LXXV. 

Extract  from  an  Address  delivered  before  the  New  England 
Society  in  the  City  of  New  Ycrrk,  Dec.  23,  1839. 

Let  me  not  be  thought,  in  this  allusion  and  others  like 

10  it  in  which  I  have  already  indulged,  to  slight  the  claims 
of  the  Virginia  colony,  or  to  do  designed  injustice  to  its 
original  settlers.  There  are  laurels  enough  growing  wild 
upon  the  graves  of  Plymouth,  without  tearing  a  leaf 
from  those  of  Jamestown.     New  England  does  not  require 

15  to  have  other  parts  of  the  country  cast  into  shade,  in  order 
that  the  brightness  of  her  own  early  days  may  be  seen  and 
admired.  Least  of  all,  would  any  son  of  New  England  be 
found  uttering  a  word  in  wanton  disparagement  of  "  our 
noble,  patriotic,  sister  colony,  Virginia,"  as  she  was  once 

20  justly  termed  by  the  patriots  of  Faneuil  Hall. 

There  are  circumstances  of  peculiar  and  beautiful  cor- 
respondence in  the  careers  of  Virginia  and  New  England, 
which  must  ever  constitute  a  bond  of  sympathy,  affection 
and  pride,  between  their  children.     Not  only  did  they  form 

25  respectively  the  great  northern  and  southern  rallying-points 
of  civilization  on  this  continent  —  not  only  was  the  most 
friendly  competition,  or  the  most  cordial  cooperation,  as 
circumstances  allowed,  kept  up  between  them  during  their 
early  colonial  existence  —  but  who  forgets  the  generous 

30  emulation,  the  noble  rivalry,  with  which  they  continually 
challenged  and  seconded  each  other  in  resisting  the  first 
beginnings  of  British  aggression,  in  the  persons  of  their 
James  Otises  and  Patrick  Henrys  ? 

W^ho  forgets,  that,  while  that  resistance  was  first  brought 

35  to  a  practical  test  in  New  England  at  Lexington  and  Con- 
cord and  Bunker  Hill,  fortune,  as  if  resolved  to  restore  the 
balance  of  renown  between  the  two,  reserved  for  the  York- 


EX.  LXXV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  327 

town  of  Virginia  the  last  crowning  victory  of  independ- 
ence ?  Who  forgets  that,  while  the  hand  by  which  the 
original  declaration  of  that  independence  was  drafted  was 
furnished  by  Virginia,  the  tongue  by  which  the  adoption 

5  of  that  instrument  was  defended  and  secured  was  supplied 
by  New  England  —  a  bond  of  common  glory,  upon  which 
not  death  alone  seemed  to  set  his  seal,  but  Deity,  I  had 
almost  said,  to  affix  an  immortal  sanction,  when  the  spirits 
by  which  that  hand  and  tongue  were  moved  were  caught 

10  up  together  to  the  clouds  on  the  same  great  day  of  the 
Ration's  jubilee. 

Nor  let  me  omit  to  allude  to  a  peculiar  distinction 
which  belongs  to  Virginia  alone.  It  is  her  preeminent 
honor  and  pride,  that  the  name  which  the  whole  country 

15  acknowledges  as  that  of  a  Father  she  can  claim  as  that 
of  a  son  —  a  name  at  which  comparison  ceases  —  to  which 
there  is  nothing  similar,  nothing  second  —  a  name  com- 
bining in  its  associations  all  that  was  most  pure  and  godly 
in  the  nature  of  the  pilgrims,  with  all  that  was  most  brave 

20  and  manly  in  the  character  of  the  patriots — a  name  above 
every  name  in  the  annals  of  human  liberty ! 

But  I  cannot  refrain  from  adding,  that  not  more  does 
the  fame  of  Washington  surpass  that  of  every  other  public 
character  which  America  or  the  world  at  large  has  yet 

25  produced,  than  the  New  England  colony,  in  its  origin  and 
its  influences,  its  objects  and  its  results,  excels  that  from 
which  Washington  was  destined  to  proceed. 

In  one  point,  indeed,  and  that,  it  is  true,  a  point  of  no 
inconsiderable  moment,  the  colonies  of  Jamestown  and 

30  Plymouth  were  alike.  Both  were  colonies  of  English- 
men;—  and  in  running  down  the  history  of  our  country 
from  its  first  colonization  to  the  present  hour,  I  need  hardly 
say  that  no  single  circumstance  can  be  found  which  has 
exercised  a  more  propitious  and  elevating  influence  upon 

35  its  fortunes  than  the  English  origin  of  its  settlers. 

Not  to  take  up  time  in  discussing  either  the  abstract 
adaptation  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  character  to  the  circum- 
stances of  a  new  country,  or  its  relative  capacity  for  the 
establishment  and  enjoyment  of  free   institutions,  —  the 

40  most  cursory  glance  at  the  comparative  condition,  past  or 
present,  of  those  portions  of  the  new  world  which  were 
planted  by  other  nations  is  amply  sufficient  to  illustrate 
this  idea.  Indeed,  our  own  continent  aflfords  an  illustra- 
tion of  it  impressed  upon  us  anew  by  recent  events  in  the 


328  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxv. 

Canadian  colonies,  which  renders  any  reference  to  the 
other  entirely  superfluous.  The  contrast  between  the 
social,  moral  and  intellectual  state  of  the  two  parts  of 
North  America  which  were  peopled  respectively  by  Eng- 
5  lishmen  and  Frenchmen  has  been  often  alluded  to.  But 
a  comparison  of  their  political  conditions  exhibits  differ- 
ences still  more  striking. 

Go  back  to  the  period  immediately  preceding  the  stamp 
act,  and  survey  the  circumstances  of  the  two  portions  of 

10  country,  as  they  then  existed.  Both  are  in  a  state  of 
colonial  dependence  on  Great  Britain.  But  the  one  has 
just  been  reduced  to  that  state  by  force  of  arms. 

Its  fields  and  villages  have  just  been  the  scenes  of  the 
pillage  and  plunder  which  always  march  in  the  train  ot 

15  conquest ;  the  allegiance  of  their  owners  has  been  vio- 
lently transferred  to  new  masters  as  the  penalty  of  defeat; 
and,  to  keep  alive  the  more  certainly  the  vindictive 
feelings  which  belong  to  the  bosoms  of  a  vanquished  peo- 
ple, and  to  frustrate  the  more  entirely  the  natural  influ- 

20  ences  of  time  and  custom  in  healing  up  the  wounds  which 
such  a  subjugation  has  inflicted,  the  laws  of  their  con- 
querors are  enacted  and  administered  in  a  strange  tongue, 
and  one  which  continually  reminds  them  that  the  yoke 
under  which  they  have  passed  is  that  of  a  nation  towards 

25  which  they  have  an  hereditary  hatred. 

The  people  of  the  other  portion,  on  the  contrary,  owe 
their  relation  to  the  common  sovereign  of  them  both,  to 
nothing  but  their  own  natural  and  voluntary  choice  —  feel 
towards  the  nation  over  which  he  presides  nothing  but  the 

30  attachment  and  veneration  of  children  towards  the  parent 
of  their  pride,  and  are  bound  to  it  by  the  powerful  ties  of  a 
common  history,  a  common  language,  and  a  common  blood. 
Tell  me,  now,  which  of  the  two  will  soonest  grow  impatient 
of  its  colonial  restraint,  soonest  throw  ofl'  its  foreign  subor- 

35  dination,  and  soonest  assert  itself  free  and  independent? 

And  what  other  solution  can  any  one  suggest  to  the 

problem   presented   by  the    fact  as   it  exists  —  the  very 

reverse  of  that  which  would  thus  ha^e  been  predicted  — 

what  other  clue  can  any  one  offer  to  the  mystery,  that 

40  the  French  colonies  should  have  remained,  not  entirely 
quietly,  indeed,  but  with  only  occasional  returns  of  inef- 
fectual throes  and  spasms,  up  to  this  very  hour,  in  a  polit- 
ical condition  which  everything  would  seem  to  have 
conspired  to  render  loathsome  and  abhorrent  —  while  the 


EX.  LXXV.J  RHETORICAL    HEADING. 


:]29 


English  colonies,  snapping  alike  every  link  either  of  love 
or  of  power,  breaking  every  bond  both  of  affection  and 
authority,  resolved  themselves  into  an  independent  nation 
half  a  century  ago,  —  what  other  explanation,  I  repeat,  can 
5  any  one  give  to  this  paradox  fulfilled,  than  that  which 
springs  from  a  consideration  of  the  comparative  capacities 
for  self-improvement  and  self-government  of  the  races  by 
which  they  were  planted  ? 

A  common  history,   a  common  language,  a  common 

10  blood,  were,  indeed,  links  of  no  ordinary  strength,  between 
the  Atlantic  colonies  and  the  mother  country.  But  that 
language  was  the  language  in  which  Milton  had  sung, 
Pym  pleaded,  and  Locke  reasoned;  that  blood  was  the 
blood  which  Hampden  had  poured  out  on  the  plain  of 

15  Chalgrove,  and  in  which  Sidney  and  Russell  had  weltered 
on  the  block  of  martyrdom ;  and  that  history  had  been 
the  history  of  toiling,  struggling,  but  still-advancing  liberty, 
for  a  thousand  years. 

Such  links  could  only  unite  the  free.     They  lost  their 

20  tenacity  in  a  moment  when  attempted  to  be  recast  on  the 
forge  of  despotism  and  employed  in  the  service  of  oppres- 
sion;  nay,  the  brittle  fragments  into  which  they  were 
broken  in  such  a  process  were  soon  moulded  and  tempered 
and  sharpened  into  the  very  blades  of  a  triumphant  resist- 

25  ance. 

What  more  effective  instruments,  what  more  powerful 
incitements,  did  our  fathers  enjoy,  in  their  revolutionary 
struggle,  than  the  lessons  afforded  them  in  the  language, 
the  examples  held  up  to  them  in  the  history,  the  principles, 

30  opinions  and  sensibilities,  flowing  from  the  hearts  and 
vibrating  through  the  veins,  which  they  inherited  from  the 
very  nation  against  which  they  were  contending ! 

Yes,  let  us  not  omit,  even  on  this  day,  when  we  com- 
memorate the  foundation  of  a  colony  which  dates  back  its 

35  origin  to  British  bigotry  and  British  persecution  —  even  in 
this  connection,  too,  when  we  are  speaking  of  that  contest 
for  liberty  which  owed  its  commencement  to  British 
oppression  and  British  despotism  —  to  express  our  gratitude 
to  God,  that  old  England  was,  still,  our  mother  country, 

40  and  to  acknowledge  our  obligations  to  our  British  ances- 
tors for  the  glorious  capabilities  which  they  bequeathed 
us. 

But  with  the  single  exception  that  both  emigrated  from 
England,  the  colonies  of  Jamestown  and  Plymouth  had 
29^ 


330  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxv. 

nothing  in  common,  and  to  all  outward  appearances  the 
former  enjoyed  every  advantage.  The  two  companies,  as 
it  happened,  though  so  long  an  interval  elapsed  between 
their  reaching  America,  left  their  native  land  within  about 
5  a  year  of  each  other ;  but  under  what  widely  different  cir- 
cumstances did  they  embark ! 

The  former  set  sail  from  the  port  of  the  metropolis,  in  a 
squadron  of  three  vessels,  under  an  experienced  com- 
mander, under  the  patronage  of  a  wealthy  and  powerful 

10  corporation,  and  with  an  ample  patent  from  the  crown. 

The  latter  betook  themselves  to  their  solitary  bark,  by 
stealth,  under  cover  of  the  night,  and  from  a  bleak  and 
desert  heath  in  Lincolnshire,  while  a  band  of  armed  horse- 
men, rushing  down  upon  them  before  the  embarkation  was 

15  completed,  made  prisoners  of  all  who  were  not  already  on 
board,  and  condemned  husbands  and  wives,  and  parents 
and  children,  to  a  cruel  and  almost  hopeless  separation. 

Nor  did  their  respective  arrivals  on  the  American  shores, 
though  divided  by  a  period  of  thirteen  years,  present  a  less 

20  signal  contrast.  The  Virginia  colony  entered  the  harbor 
of  Jamestown  about  the  middle  of  May,  and  never  could 
that  lovely  Queen  of  Spring  have  seemed  lovelier  than 
when  she  put  on  her  flowery  kirtle  and  her  wreath  of 
clusters,  to  welcome  those  admiring  strangers  to  the  enjoy- 

25  ment  of  her  luxuriant  vegetation. 

There  were  no  Mayflowers  for  the  Pilgrims,  save  the 
name,  written,  as  in  mockery,  on  the  stern  of  their  treach- 
erous ship.  They  entered  the  harbor  of  Plymouth  on  the 
shortest  day  in  the  year,  in  this  last  quarter  of  Decem- 

30  ber,  —  and  when  could  the  rigid  Winter-King  have  looked 
more  repulsive,  than  when,  shrouded  with  snow  and 
crowned  with  ice,  he  admitted  those  shivering  wanderers 
within  the  realms  of  his  dreary  domination  ? 

But  mark  the  sequel.     From  a  soil  teeming  with  every 

35  variety  of  production  for  food,  for  fragrance,  for  beauty,  for 
profit,  the  Jamestown  colonists  reaped  only  disappointment, 
discord,  wretchedness.  Having  failed  in  the  great  object 
of  their  adventure  —  the  discovery  of  gold — they  soon  grew 
weary  of  their  condition,  and  within  three  years  after  their 

40  arrival  are  found  on  the  point  of  abandoning  the  country. 

Indeed,  they  are  actually  embarked,  one  and  all,  with 

this  intent,  and  are  already  at  the  mouth  of  the  river, 

when,  falling  in  with  new  hands  and  fresh  supplies  which 

have  been  sent  to  their  relief,  they  are  induced  to  return 

45  once  more  to  their  deserted  village. 


EX.  LXrV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  '^^l 

But  even  up  to  the  very  year  in  which  the  pilgrims 
landed,  ten  years  after  this  renewal  of  their  designs,  they 
"  had  hardly  become  settled  in  their  minds,"  had  hardly 
abandoned  the  purpose  of  ultimately  returning  to  Eng- 
5  land ;  and  their  condition  may  be  illustrated  by  the  fact, 
that  in  1619,  and  again  in  1621,  cargoes  of  young  women, 
(a  commodity  of  which  there  was  scarcely  a  sample  in  the 
whole  plantation  —  and  would  to  God  that  all  the  traffic 
in  human  flesh  on  the  Virginian  coast,  even  at  this  early 

10  period,  had  been  as  innocent  in  itself  and  as  beneficial  in 

its  results !  — )  were  sent  out  by  the  corporation  in  London 

and  sold  to  the  planters  for  wives,  at  from  one  hundred  and 

twenty  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  tobacco  apiece ! 

Nor  was  the  political  condition  of  the  Jamestown  colony 

15  much  in  advance  of  its  social  state.  The  charter  under 
which  they  came  out  contained  not  a  single  element  of 
popular  liberty,  and  secured  not  a  single  right  or  franchise 
to  those  who  lived  under  it. 

And,  though  a  gleam  of  freedom  seemed  to  dawn  upon 

20  them  in  1619,  when  they  instituted  a  Colonial  Assembly 
and  introduced  the  representative  system  for  the  first  time 
into  the  new  world,  the  precarious  character  of  their 
popular  institutions,  and  the  slender  foundation  of  their 
popular  liberties,  at  a  much  later  period,  even  as  far  down 

25  as  1671,  may  be  understood  from  that  extraordinary  declar- 
ation of  Sir  William  Berkeley,  then  Governor  of  Virginia, 
to  the  Lords  Commissioners  :  —  "I  thank  God,  there  are 
no  free  schools  nor  printing,  and  I  hope  we  shall  not 
have    these    hundred   years;    for   learning   has   brought 

30  disobedience  and  heresy  and  sects  into  the  world,  and 
printing  has  divulged  them  and  libels  against  the  best 
government.     God  keep  us  from  both." 

But  how  was  it  with  4he  pilgrims  ?      From  a  soil  of 
comparative  barrenness,  they  gathered  a  rich  harvest  of 

35  contentment,  harmony  and  happiness.  Coming  to  it  for 
no  purpose  of  commerce  or  adventure,  they  found  all  they 
sought — religious  freedom — and  that  made  the  wilderness 
to  them  like  Eden,  and  the  desert  as  the  garden  of  the 
Lord. 

40  Of  quitting  it,  from  the  very  hour  of  their  arrival, 
they  seem  never  once  to  have  entertained,  or  even  con- 
ceived, a  thought.  The  first  foot  that  leaped  gently  but 
fearlessly  on  Plymouth  rock  was  a  pledge  that  there  would 
be  no  retreating  —  tradition  tells  us  that  it  was  the  foot 


332  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxv. 

of  Marj'  Chilton.  They  have  brought  their  wives  and 
their  little  ones  with  them  ;  and  what  other  assurance  could 
they  give  that  they  have  come  to  their  home  ? 

And  accordingly  they  proceed  at  once  to  invest  it  with 
5  all  the  attributes  of  home,  and  to  make  it  a  free  and  a 
happy  home.  The  compact,  of  their  own  adoption,  under 
which  they  landed,  remained  the  sole  guide  of  their  gov- 
ernment for  nine  years ;  and  though  it  was  then  superseded 
by  a  charter  from  the  corporation  within  whose  limits  they 

10  had  fallen,  it  was  a  charter  of  a  liberal  and  comprehensive 
character,  and  under  its  provisions  they  continued  to  lay 
broad  and  deep  the  foundations  of  civil  freedom. 

The  trial  by  jury  was  established  by  the  pilgrims  within 
three  years  after  their  arrival,  and  constitutes  the  appro- 

15  priate  opening  to  the  first  chapter  of  their  legislation.  The 
education  of  their  children,  as  we  have  seen,  was  one  of 
their  main  motives  for  leaving  Holland,  and  there  is  abun- 
dant evidence  that  it  was  among  the  earliest  subjects  of 
their  attention ;  while  the  planters  of  Massachusetts,  who 

20  need  not  be  distinguished  from  the  planters  of  Plymouth 
for  any  purposes  of  this  comparison,  founded  the  college  at 
Cambridge  in  1636  —  set  up  a  printing  press  at  the  same 
place  in  1639,  which  "  divulged,"  in  its  first  workings,  at 
least,  nothing  more  libellous  or  heretical  than  a  psalm-book 

25  and  an  almanac  —  and  as  early  as  1647  had  instituted,  by 
an  ever  memorable  statute,  that  noble  system  of  New 
England  free  schools,  which  constitutes  at  this  moment 
the  best  security  of  liberty  wherever  liberty  exists,  and  its 
best  hope  wherever  it  is  still  to  be  established. 

30  It  would  carry  me  far  beyond  the  allowable  limits  of  this 
address,  if,  indeed,  I  have  not  already  exceeded  them,  to 
contrast  in  detail  the  respective  influences  upon  our  coun- 
try, and,  through  it,  upon  the  world,  of  these  two  original 
colonies.     The  elements  for  such  a  contrast  I  have  already 

35  suggested,  and  I  shall  content  myself  with  only  adding 
further  upon  this  point  the  recent  and  very  remarkable  tes- 
timony of  two  most  intelligent  French  travellers,  whose 
writings  upon  the  United  States  have  justly  received  such 
distinguished  notice  on  both  sides  the  Atlantic. 

40  "  I  have  already  observed,"  says  De  Tocqueville,  that 
"  the  origin  of  the  American  settlements  may  be  looked 
upon  as  the  first  and  most  efficacious  cause  to  which  the 
present  prosperity  of  the  United  States  may  be  attributed. 
*:  #  #  When  I  reflect  upon  the  consequences  of  this  pri- 


EX.  LXXV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  333 

mary  circumstance,  methinks  I  see  the  destiny  of  America 
embodied  in  the  first  Puritan  who  landed  on  these  shores, 
just  as  the  human  race  was  represented  by  the  first  man." 
"  If  we  wished,"  says  Chevalier,  "  to  form  a  single  type, 
5  representing  the  American  character  of  the  present  moment 
as  a  single  whole,  it  would  be  necessary  to  take  at  least 
three-fourths  of  the  Yankee  race  and  to  mix  it  with  hardly 
one-fourth  of  the  Virginian." 

But  the  Virginia  type  was  not  complete  when  it  first 

10  appeared  on  the  coast  of  Jamestown,  and  I  must  not  omit, 
before  bringing  these  remarks  to  a  conclusion,  to  allude  to 
one  other  element  of  any  just  comparison  between  the  two 
colonies. 

The  year  1620  was  unquestionably  the  great  epoch  of 

15  American  destinies.  Within  its  latter  half  were  included 
the  two  events  which  have  exercised  incomparably  the 
most  controlling  influence  on  the  character  and  fortunes  of 
our  country.  At  the  very  time  the  Mayflower,  with  its 
precious  burden,  was  engaged  in  its  perilous  voyage  to 

20  Plymouth,  another  ship,  far  otherwise  laden,  was  approach- 
ing the  harbor  of  Virginia. 

It  was  a  Dutch  man-of-war,  and  its  cargo  consisted  in 
part  of  twenty  slaves,  which  were  subjected  to  sale  on  their 
arrival,  and  with  which  the  foundations  of  domestic  slavery 

25  in  North  America  were  laid. 

I  see  those  two  fate-freighted  vessels,  laboring  under  the 
divided  destinies  of  the  same  nation,  and  striving  against 
the  billows  of  the  same  sea,  like  the  principles  of  good  and 
evil  advancing  side  by  side  on  the  same  great  ocean  of 

30  human  life. 

I  hear  from  the  one  the  sighs  of  wretchedness,  the 
groans  of  despair,  the  curses  and  clankings  of  struggling 
captivity,  sounding  and  swelling  on  the  same  gale  which 
bears  only  from  the  other  the  pleasant  voices  of  prayer  and 

35  praise,  the  cheerful  melody  of  contentment  and  happiness, 
the  glad,  the  glorious  "  anthem  of  the  free." 

Oh,  could  some  angel  arm,  like  that  which  seems  to 
guide  and  guard  the  pilgrim  bark,  be  now  interposed  to 
arrest,  avert,  dash  down  and  overwhelm,  its  accursed  com- 

10  peer !  But  it  may  not  be.  They  have  both  reached  in 
safety  the  place  of  their  destination.  Freedom  and  Slavery, 
in  one  and  the  same  year,  have  landed  on  these  American 
shores.  And  American  liberty,  like  the  victor  of  ancient 
Rome,  is  doomed  —  let  us  hope  not  forever  —  to  endure 


334  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxv. 

the  presence  of  a  fettered  captive  as  a  companion  in  her 
car  of  triumph ! 

TP  tP  •a'  ^  -TV-  ^ 

It  has  been  suggested,  gentlemen,  by  one  of  the  French 
travellers  whose  opinions  I  have  just  cited,  that  though  the 
5  Yankee  has  set  his  mark  on  the  United  States  during  the 
last  half  century,  and  though  "  he  still  rules  the  nation," 
that  yet  the  physical  labor  of  civilization  is  now  nearly 
brought  to  an  end,  the  physical  basis  of  society  entirely 
laid,  and  that  other  influences  are  soon  about  to  predomi- 

10  nate  in  rearing  up  the  social  superstructure  of  our  nation. 

I  hail  the  existence  of  this  association,  and  of  others  like 

it  in  all  parts  of  the  Union,  bound  together  by  the  noble 

cords  of  "  friendship,  charity,  and  mutual  assistance,"  as  a 

pledge  that  New  England  principles,  whether  in  ascen- 

15  dency  or  under  depression  in  the  nation  at  large,  will  never 
stand  in  need  of  warm  hearts  and  bold  tongues  to  cherish 
and  vindicate  them. 

But,  at  any  rate,  let  us  rejoice  that  they  have  so  long 
pervaded  the  country  and  prevailed  in  her  institutions. 

20  Let  us  rejoice  that  the  basis  of  her  society  has  been  laid 
by  Yankee  arms.  Let  us  rejoice  that  the  corner-stone  of 
our  republican  edifice  was  hewn  out  from  the  old,  original, 
primitive,  Plymouth  quarry. 

In  what  remains  to  be  done,  either  in  finishing  or  in 

25  ornamenting  that  edifice,  softer  and  more  pliable  materials 
may,  perhaps,  be  preferred;  the  New  England  granite 
may  be  thought  too  rough  and  unwieldy ;  the  architects 
may  condemn  it,  the  builders  may  reject  it;  but  still, 
still,  it  will  remain  the  deep  and  enduring  foundation,  not 

30  to  be  removed  without  undermining  the  whole  fabric. 

A-nd  should  that  fabric  be  destined  to  stand,  even  when 
bad  government  shall  descend  upon  it  like  the  rains,  and 
corruption  come  round  about  it  like  the  floods,  and  faction, 
discord,  disunion  and  anarchy,  blow  and  beat  upon  it  like 

85  the  winds,  —  as  God  grant  it  may  stand  forever !  —  it  will 
still  owe  its  stability  to  no  more  effective  earthly  influence 
than  that  it  was  founded  on  Pilgrim  Rock. 

Hon.  E.  C.  Winthrop. 


EX.  LXXVII.]  UHETORICAL   READING.  335 

EXERCISE  LXXVI. 
Description  of  Mob,  Queen  of  the  Fairies. 

She  is  the  fancy's  midwife  :    and  she  comes 

In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 

On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman, 

Drawn  with  a  team  of  Httle  atomies, 
5     Athwart  men's  noses,  as  they  lie  asleep ; 

Her  wagon  spokes  made  of  long  spinners'  legs ; 

The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers ; 

The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web ; 

The  collar 's  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams ; 
10     Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone ;  the  lash,  of  film ; 

Her  wagoner,  a  small  gray-coated  gnat ; 

Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut. 

Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel  or  old  grub, 

Time  out  of  mind  the  fairies'  coachmakers. 
15         And  in  this  state  she  shallops,  night  by  night, 

Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of  love : 

O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees : 

O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream : 

And  sometimes  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail, 
20     Tickling  the  parson  as  he  lies  asleep : 

Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice. 

Sometimes  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck ; 

And  then  he  dreams  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 

Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades ; 
25     Of  healths  five  fathoms  deep :   and  then,  anon. 

Drums  in  his  ears ;  at  which  he  starts  and  wakes ; 

And,  being  thus  frighted,  swears  a  prayer  or  two  — 

And  sleeps  again.  Shakspeare. 


EXERCISE  LXXVII. 

Progress  of  Freedom, 

Various  have  been  the  efforts  in  the  old  world  at  pop- 
30  ular  forms  of  government,  but,  from  some  cause  or  other, 
they  have  failed ;  and  however  time,  a  wider  intercourse, 
a  greater  familiarity  with  the  practical  duties  of  represent- 
ation, and,  not  least  of  all,  our  own  auspicious  example, 
may  prepare  the  European  mind  for  the  possession  of  re- 
35  publican  freedom,  it  is  very  certain  that,  at  the  present 
moment,  Europe  is  not  the  place  for  republics. 


*^36  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxvu. 

The  true  soil  for  these  is  our  own  continent,  the  new 
world,  the  last  of  the  three  great  geographical  divisions 
of  which  we  have  spoken.  This  is  the  spot  on  which  the 
beautiful   theories    of  the    European    philosopher — who 

5  had  risen  to  the  full  freedom  of  speculation,  while  action 
was  controlled  —  have  been  reduced  to  practice.  The 
atmosphere  here  seems  as  fatal  to  the  arbitrary  institutions 
of  the  old  world  as  that  has  been  to  the  democratic 
forms  of  our  own.     It  seems  scarcely  possible  that  any 

10  other  organization  than  these  latter  should  exist  here. 

In  three  centuries  from  the  discovery  of  the  country,  the 
various  races  by  which  it  is  tenanted  —  some  of  them  from 
the  least  liberal  of  the  European  monarchies  —  have,  with 
few  exceptions,  come  into  the  adoption  of  institutions  of  a 

15  republican  character.  Toleration,  civil  and  religious,  has 
been  proclaimed,  and  enjoyed  to  an  extent  unknown  since 
the  world  began,  throughout  the  wide  borders  of  this  vast 
continent.  Alas  for  those  portions  which  have  assumed 
the  exercise  of  these  rights  without  fully  comprehending 

20  their  import !  who  have  been  intoxicated  with  the  fumes 
of  freedom,  instead  of  drawing  nourishment  from  its  living 
principle ! 

It  was  fortunate,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  a  providen- 
tial thing,  that  the  discovery  of  the  new  world  was  post- 
25  poned  to  the  precise  period  when  it  occurred.  Had  it 
taken  place  at  an  earlier  time  —  during  the  flourishing 
period  of  the  feudal  ages,  for  example  —  the  old  institu- 
tions of  Europe,  with  their  hallowed  abuses,  might  have 
been  ingrafted  on  this  new  stock,  and,  instead  of  the  fruit 

30  of  the  tree  of  life,  we  should  have  furnished  only  varie- 
ties of  a  kind  already  far  exhausted  and  hastening  to 
decay. 

But,  happily,  some  important  discoveries  in  science, 
and,  above  all,  the  glorious  Reformation,  gave  an  electric 

35  shock  to  the  intellect,  long  benumbed  under  the  influence 
of  a  tyrannical  priesthood.  It  taught  men  to  distrust 
authority,  to  trace  effects  back  to  their  causes,  to  search  for 
themselves,  and  to  take  no  guide  but  the  reason  which  God 
had  given  them.     It  taught  them  to  claim  the  right  of 

40  free  inquiry  as  their  inalienable  birthright,  and,  with  free 
inquiry,  freedom  of  action.  The  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries  were  the  period  of  the  mighty  struggle 
between  the  conflicting  elements  of  religion,  as  the  eigh- 
teenth and  nineteenth  have  been  that  of  the  great  contest 

45  for  civ^l  liberty. 


EX.  LXXVn.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  337 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  universal  ferment,  and  in 
consequence  of  it,  that  these  shores  were  first  peopled  by 
our  Puritan  ancestors.  Here  they  found  a  world  where 
they  might  verify  the  value  of  those  theories  which  had 
6  been  derided  as  visionary,  or  denounced  as  dangerous,  in 
their  own  land.  All  around  was  free  —  free  as  nature 
herself:  the  mighty  streams  rolling  on  in  their  majesty, 
as  they  had  continued  to  roll  from  the  creation ;  the  for- 
ests, which  no  hand  had  violated,  flourishing  in  primeval 

10  grandeur  and  beauty  —  their  only  tenants  the  wild  animals, 
or  the  Indians,  nearly  as  wild,  scarcely  held  together  by 
any  tie  of  social  polity. 

Nowhere  was  the  trace  of  civilized  man  or  of  his  curi- 
ous contrivances.     Here  was  no  Star  Chamber  nor  Court 

15  of  High  Commission  ;  no  racks,  nor  jails,  nor  gibbets  ;  no 
feudal  tyrant,  to  grind  the  poor  man  to  the  dust  on  which 
he  toiled ;  no  Inquisition,  to  pierce  into  the  thought,  and 
to  make  thought  a  crime.  The  only  eye  that  was  upon 
them  was  the  eye  of  Heaven. 

20  True,  indeed,  in  the  first  heats  of  suffering  enthusiasm, 
they  did  not  extend  that  charity  to  others  which  they 
claimed  for  themselves.  It  was  a  blot  on  their  characters, 
but  one  which  they  share  in  common  with  most  reformers. 
The  zeal  requisite  for  great  revolutions,  whether  in  church 

25  or  state,  is  rarely  attended  by  charity  for  difference  of 
opinion.  Those  who  are  willing  to  do  and  to  suffer  bmve- 
ly  for  their  own  doctrines  attach  a  value  to  them  which 
makes  them  impatient  of  opposition  from  others. 

The  martyr  for  conscience'  sake  cannot  comprehend  the 

30  necessity  of  leniency  to  those  who  denounce  those  truths 
for  which  he  is  prepared  to  lay  down  his  own  life.  If  he 
set  so  little  value  on  his  own  life,  is  it  natural  he  should 
set  more  on  that  of  others  ?  The  Dominican,  who  dragged 
his  victims  to  the  fires  of  the  Inquisition  in  Spain,  freely 

35  gave  up  his  ease  and  his  life  to  the  duties  of  a  missionary 
among  the  heathen.  The  Jesuits,  who  suffered  martyrdoiii 
among  the  American  savages  in  the  propagation  of  theii 
faith,  stimulated  those  very  savages  to  their  horrid  niassa 
cres  of  the  Protestant  settlements  of  New  England.     GoU 

40  has  not  often  combined  charity  with  enthusiasm.  When 
he  has  done  so,  he  has  produced  his  noblest  work  —  a 
More,  or  a  Fenelon. 

But  if  the  first  settlers  were  intolerant  in  practice,  they 
brought  with  them  the  living  principle  of  freedom,  which 
29 


338  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxviii. 

would  survive  when  their  generation  had  passed  away. 
They  could  not  avoid  it;  for  their  coming  here  was  in 
itself  an  assertion  of  that  principle.  They  came  for  con- 
science' sake  —  to  worship  God  in  their  own  way.  Free- 
5  dom  of  political  institutions  they  at  once  avowed.  Every 
citizen  took  his  part  in  the  political  scheme,  and  enjoyed 
all  the  consideration  of  an  equal  participation  in  civil  priv- 
ileges :  and  liberty  in  political  matters  gradually  brought 
with  it  a  corresponding  liberty  in  religious  concerns. 

10  In  their  subsequent  contest  with  the  mother  country 
they  learned  a  reason  for  their  faith,  and  the  best  manner 
of  defending  it.  Their  liberties  struck  a  deep  root  in  the 
soil,  amid  storms  which  shook  but  could  not  prostrate 
them.     It  is  this  struggle  with  the  mother  country,  this 

15  constant  assertion  of  the  right  of  self-government,  this  ten- 
dency —  feeble  in  its  beginning,  increasing  with  increasing 
age  —  towards  republican  institutions,  which  connects  the 
colonial  history  with  that  of  the  Union,  and  forms  the 
true  point  of  view  from  which  it  is  to  be  regarded. 

W.  H.  Prescott, 


EXERCISE  LXXVIII. 

The  Meeting  of  the  Waters. 

20       There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  that  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet; 
Oh !  the  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart. 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shall  fade  from  my  heart. 
Yet  it  was  not  that  nature  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
25  Her  purest  of  crystal,  the  brightest  of  green  ; 
'T  was  not  the  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill, 
Oh  !  no  —  it  was  something  more  exquisite  still. 

'T  was  that  friends,  the  beloved  of  my  bosom,  were  near, 
Who  made  each  dear  scene  of  enchantment  more  dear, 
30  And  who  felt  how  the  best  charms  of  nature  improve, 
When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love. 

Sweet  vale  of  Ovoca !  how  calm  could  I  rest 
In  thy  bosom  of  shade  with  the  friends  I  love  best. 
Where  the  storms  which  we  feel  in  this  cold  world  should 
35  cease. 

And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  in  peace  ! 

T.  Mo(yre, 


BX.  LXXIX.]  RHETOKICAL    READING.  339 

EXERCISE  LXXIX. 

Extracts  from  the  Inaugural  Address  of  the  Mayor  of 
Boston. 

Our  municipal  charter  requires  that  the  mayor  shall 
communicate  to  the  two  bmnches  of  the  City  Council 
such  information,  and  recommend  such  measures,  as  may 
promote  the  improvement  and  substantial  interests  of 
5  Boston.  It  is  not  becoming  that  I  should  enter  even  upon 
this  minor  and  incipient  duty  without  tendering,  as  1  now 
do,  through  you,  to  my  fellow-citizens,  my  grateful  acknowl- 
edgments for  the  confidence  with  which  they  have  seen 
fit  to  honor  me. 

10  At  present,  all  that  I  can  offer  in  exchange  for  an  un- 
sought and  unexpected  demonstration  of  popular  favor,  is 
the  solemn  promise  that  I  will  faithfully  devote  whatever 
energies  I  possess  to  the  promotion  of  the  public  welfare, 
unswayed  by  any  other  considerations  or  influence  than 

15  my  deliberate  convictions  of  right. 

I  am  fully  aware  that  in  the  discharge  of  my  official 
duties  I  must  come  in  collision  with  the  interests,  the 
prejudices,  the  passions,  of  a  greater  or  less  number  of 
my  constituents,  and  am  perfectly  content  to  abide  the  re- 

20  suit.  Such  has  been  the  fortune  of  all  my  predecessors, 
and  I  cannot  expect  to  fare  better  than  they. 

Much  as  I  value  the  good  will  and  love  of  the  people 
among  whom  I  have  dwelt  these  thirty  winters,  yet,  if  it 
happen  that,  in  consequence  of  pursuing  the  course  which 

25  my  judgment  and  conscience  may  approve,  my  adminis- 
tration should  fail  to  be  acceptable  to  the  popular  majority, 
I  shall  retire  to  private  life  with  far  more  pleasure  than  I 
experience  in  assuming  the  responsibilities  of  office. 

Boston  and  its  environs,  within  a  radius  of  five  miles, 

30  contains  at  least  two  hundred  and  ten  thousand  inhabit- 
ants. The  city  proper  has  about  one  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand  inhabitants,  with  an  assessed  valuation  of  one 
hundred  and  sixty-seven  millions  of  dollars.  So  large  an 
accumulation  of  people  and  wealth  on  a  single  spot,  within 

35  a  region  of  our  country  so  little  favored  by  nature,  could 
hardly  have  been  anticipated. 

The  sterile  soil,  the  rugged  surface,  the  stern  climate, 
and  the  want  of  navigable  streams,  in  New  England,  would 
seem  to  have  rendered  it  improbable  that  it  would  ever  be 

40  considerably  peopled,  or  that  any  great  commercial  mart 


340  parkee's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxix. 

should  arise  within  its  borders.  It  would  seem  that 
such  would  exist  only  within  the  more  central  or  south- 
erly portions  of  the  Union,  under  more  genial  skies,  and 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  great  natural  routes  of  intercom- 
5  munication. 

But  the  resolution  and  intelligent  industry  of  our  fathers 
surmounted  every  obstacle.  The  region,  sneeringly  stig- 
matized as  having  no  natural  productions  for  export  but 
"  granite  and  ice,"  now  teems  with  three  millions  of  the 

10  children  of  freedom,  abounding  in  the  comforts  of  civil- 
ized life  —  and  its  metropolis  ranks  with  the  great  cities 
of  the  globe. 

It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  also,  that  that  metropolis  be- 
came an  important  city  long  before  science  and  art  had 

15  cut  in  sunder  the  hills,  elevated  the  vales,  and  spanned 
the  running  waters,  to  unite  her  commerce  in  easy  and 
rapid  communication  with  more  favored  climes.  If  our 
people  could  achieve  a  position  so  prominent  while  desti- 
tute of  any  of  the  facilities  of  intercourse  with  the  inte- 

20  rior  with  which  the  cities  of  the  sunny  South  are  so 
abundantly  blessed,  what  may  we  not  expect  of  the  future 
destiny  of  Boston,  now  that  her  iron  highways,  extending 
in  all  directions,  bring  her  into  convenient  proximity  with 
every  section  of  the  land  ? 

25  They  who  could  effect  so  much  under  the  most  repel- 
ling circumstances  may  be  depended  upon  to  avail  them- 
selves to  the  full  of  their  new  and  ample  advantages. 
The  long  winter  of  New  England  isolation  is  broken,  — 
she  warms  and  flourishes  in  friendly  and  thrifty  inter- 

30  course  with  the  luxuriant  West;  and  it  is  not  too  much  to 
anticipate  that  the  day  will  come,  when  there  will  be  no 
greater  or  more  prosperous  city  upon  the  American  conti- 
nent than  the  City  of  the  Pilgrims. 

This  view  of  the  prospects  of  Boston  leads  me  to  speak 

35  of  our  schools,  —  education  being  the  true  basis  of  our 
institutions,  and  the  real  secret  of  New  England  progress 
and  power.  Our  schools  are  believed  never  to  have  been 
more  deserving  of  confidence  and  support  than  at  the 
present  time. 

40  There  are  now  in  the  city,  sustained  at  the  public 
charge,  one  hundred  and  eighty-eight  schools,  with  nine- 
teen thousand  and  sixty-four  pupils  in  attendance.  There 
has  been  expended  from  the  treasury  for  these  schools, 
within  the  past  year,  three  hundred  and  forty-six  thou- 


EX.  LXXIX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  341 

sand  five  hundred  and  seventy-two  dollars,  including  the 
amount  paid  on  account  of  new  edifices.  There  is  no 
expense  which  the  people  of  Boston  more  willingly  incur 
than  that  which  is  necessary  for  the  support  of  the  pub- 
5  lie  schools;  but  it  cannot  be  their  intention  to  authorize 
unnecessary  outlays  for  this,  or  any  other  object  what- 
ever. 

With  this  conviction,  I  cannot  but  regret  what  appears 
to  me  to  have  been  the  extraordinary  cost  of  erecting 
10  some  of  the  newer  school-houses.  The  splendor  of  the 
edifice  is  no  guarantee  for  the  education  of  the  pupil ;  who 
is  as  efficiently  fitted  for  the  great  duties  of  life  in  the 
older  and  less  pretending  seminaries  of  the  city  as  in  the 
magnificent  structures  of  the  present  period. 

J^  ^  TT  Tf  tF  •?<•  -W^ 

The  erring  and  abandoned  should  be  treated  as  children 
of  our  common  Father ;  but  society  should  not  be  expected 
to  furnish  costly  accommodations  for  those  who  set  its 
authority  at  naught.     A  prison  should  never  be  built  with 

20  reference  to  show.  It  were  better  that  it  should  be  screened 
from  observation,  rather  than  elicit  encomiums  upon  its 
architecture.  In  appearance,  it  can  never  be  other  than 
a  melancholy  monument  of  the  infirmities  of  our  race; 
and  it  is  not  wise  to  whiten  or  garnish  the  sepulchre  of 

25  shame. 

*n*  ^F  'fF  ?nF  'Tt*  ^r 

During  the  year  whose  advent  we  gratefully  salute  this 
morning,  we  are  charged  with  duties  of  no  ordinary  re- 
sponsibility.    The  action  neither  of  the  state  nor  national 

30  governments  bears  with  such  immediate  and  sensible  effects 
upon  the  happiness  of  the  great  family  whom  we  represent 
as  the  conduct  of  their  civic  fathers.  For  our  stewardship, 
brief  though  it  be,  we  shall  surely  be  held  to  account  here 
and  hereafter.     Let  us  seek  light  and  wisdom  from  on 

35  high.     Let  our  supplication  be,  like  that  inscribed  upon 
the  escutcheon  of  Boston,  in  the  classic  characters  of  a 
distant  age,  —  As  God  was  to  our  fathers,  so  may  he  be 
unto  us.  —  Hon.  John  P.  Bigelow. 
29* 


842  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxi. 

EXERCISE  LXXX. 
Adam^s  Description  of  his  First  State  of  Comciotisness 

As  new  waked  from  soundest  sleep, 

Soft  on  the  flowery  herb  I  found  me  laid, 

In  balmy  sweat ;  which  with  his  beams  the  sun 

Soon  dried,  and  on  the  reeking  moisture  fed. 
5     Straight  toward  heaven  my  wondering  eyes  I  turned, 

And  gazed  a  while  the  ample  sky ;  till,  raised 

By  quick  instinctive  motion,  up  I  sprung. 

As  thitherward  endeavoring,  and  upright 

Stood  on  my  feet. 
10  About  me  round  I  saw 

Hill,  dale,  and  shady  woods,  and  sunny  plains, 

And  liquid  lapse  of  murmuring  streams ;  by  these, 

Creatures  that  lived  and  moved,  and  walked  or  flew; 

Birds  on  the  branches  warbling ;  all  things  smiled 
15     With  fragrance,  and  with  joy  my  heart  o'erflowed. 
Myself  I  then  perused,  and  limb  by  limb 

Surveyed,  and  sometimes  went,  and  sometimes  ran 

With  supple  joints,  as  lively  vigor  led : 

But  who  1  was,  or  where,  or  from  what  cause, 
20     Knew  not.     To  speak  I  tried,  and  forthwith  spake , 

My  tongue  obeyed,  and  readily  could  name 

Whate'er  I  saw. 

"  Thou  sun,"  said  I,  "  fair  light ! 

And  thou  enlightened  earth,  so  fresh  and  gay ! 
25     Ye  hills  and  dales,  ye  rivers,  woods  and  plains, 

And  ye  that  live  and  move,  fair  creatures,  tell. 

Tell,  if  ye  saw,  how  came  I  thus,  how  here  !"     Milton. 


EXERCISE  LXXXI. 

Halifax. 

Among  the  statesmen  of  the  age  of  Charles  II.,  Halifax 

was,  in  genius,  the  first.     His  intellect  was  fertile,  subtle, 

30  and  capacious.      His  polished,  luminous,  and  animated 

eloquence,  set  off  by  the  silver  tones  of  his  voice,  was  the 

delight  of  the  House  of  Lords. 

His  conversation  overflowed  with  thought,  fancy,  and 

wit.     His  political  tracts  well  deserve  to  be  studied  for 

35  their  literary  merit,  and  fully  entitle  him  to  a  place  among 


EX.  LXXXI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  343 

English  classics.  To  the  weight  derived  from  talents  so 
great  and  various,  he  united  all  the  influence  which  belongs 
to  rank  and  ample  possessions. 

Yet  he  was  less  successful  in  politics  than  many  who 
5  enjoyed  smaller  advantages.  Indeed,  those  intellectual 
peculiarities  which  make  his  writings  valuable  frequently 
impeded  him  in  the  contests  of  active  life.  For  he  always 
saw  passing  events,  not  in  the  point  of  view  in  which  they 
commonly  appear  to  one  who  bears  a  part  in  them,  but  in 
10  the  point  of  view  in  which,  after  the  lapse  of  many  years, 
they  appear  to  the  philosophic  historian. 

With  such  a  turn  of  mind,  he  could  not  long  continue 
to  act  cordially  with  any  body  of  men.  All  the  prejudices, 
all  the  exaggerations,  of  both  the  great  parties  in  the  state, 
15  moved  his  scorn.  He  despised  the  mean  arts  and  unrea- 
sonable clamors  of  demagogues.  He  despised  still  more 
the  Tory  doctrines  of  divine  right  and  passive  obedience. 
He  sneered  impartially  at  the  bigotry  of  the  Churchman 
and  the  bigotry  of  the  Puritan.  He  was  equally  unable  to 
20  comprehend  how  any  man  should  object  to  saints'  days  and 
surplices,  and  how  any  man  should  persecute  any  other 
man  for  objecting  to  them. 

In  temper  he  was  what,  in  our  time,  is  called  a  conserv- 
ative. In  theory  he  was  a  republican.  Even  when  his 
25  dread  of  anarchy  and  his  disdain  for  vulgar  delusions  led 
him  to  side  for  a  time  with  the  defenders  of  arbitrary 
power,  his  intellect  was  always  with  Locke  and  Milton. 
Indeed,  his  jests  upon  hereditary  monarchy  were  sometimes 
such  as  would  have  better  become  a  member  of  the  Calf's 
30  Head  Club  than  a  privy  councillor  of  the  Stuarts. 

In  religion  he  was  so  far  from  being  a  zealot,  that  he  was 
called  by  the  uncharitable  an  atheist :  but  this  imputation 
he  vehemently  repelled ;  and  in  truth,  though  he  some- 
times gave  scandal  by  the  way  in  which  he  exerted  his 
35  rare  powers  both  of  argumentation  and  of  ridicule  on  seri- 
ous subjects,  he  seems  to  have  been  by  no  means  unsus- 
ceptible of  religious  impressions. 

He  was  the  chief  of  those  politicians  whom  the  two 

great  parties  contemptuously  called  Trimmers.      Instead 

40  of  quarrelling  with  this  nickname,  he  assumed  it  as  a  title 

of  honor,  and  vindicated,  with  great  vivacity,  the  dignity 

of  the  appellation. 

Everything  good,  he  said,  trims  between  extremes.    The 
temperate  zone  trims  between  the  climate  in  which  men 


344  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxi. 

are  roasted  and  the  climate  in  which  they  are  frozen.  The 
English  Church  trims  between  the  Anabaptist  madness 
and  the  Papist  lethargy.  The  English  constitution  trims 
between  Turkish  despotism  and  Polish  anarchy.  Virtue 
5  is  nothing  but  a  just  temper  between  propensities,  any  one 
of  which,  if  indulged  to  excess,  becomes  vice.  Nay,  the 
perfection  of  the  Supreme  Being  himself  consists  in  the 
exact  equilibrium  of  attributes,  none  of  which  could  pre- 
ponderate without  disturbing  the  whole  moral  and  physical 

10  order  of  the  world. 

Thus  Halifax  was  a  trimmer  on  principle.  He  was  also 
a  trimmer  by  the  constitution  both  of  his  head  and  of  his 
heart.  His  understanding  was  keen,  sceptical,  inexhausti- 
bly fertile  in  distinctions  and  objections ;  his  taste  refined ; 

15  his  sense  of  the  ludicrous  exquisite ;  his  temper  placid  and 
forgiving,  but  fastidious,  and  by  no  means  prone  either  to 
malevolence  or  to  enthusiastic  admiration. 

Such  a  man  could  not  long  be  constant  to  any  band  of 
political  allies.     He  must  not,  however,  be  confounded  with 

20  the  vulgar  crowd  of  renegades.*  For  though,  like  them,  he 
passed  from  side  to  side,  his  transition  was  always  in  the 
direction  opposite  to  theirs.  He  had  nothing  in  common 
with  those  who  fly  from  extreme  to  extreme,  and  who 
regard  the  party  which  they  have  deserted  with  an  animos- 

25  ity  far  exceeding  that  of  consistent  enemies. 

His  place  was  between  the  hostile  divisions  of  the  com- 
munity, and  he  never  wandered  far  beyond  the  frontier  of 
either.  The  party  to  which  he  at  any  moment  belonged 
was  the  party  which,  at  that  moment,  he  liked  least,  be- 

30  cause  it  was  the  party  of  which,  at  that  moment,  he  had 
the  nearest  view.  He  was  therefore  always  severe  upon 
his  violent  associates,  and  was  always  in  friendly  relations 
with  his  moderate  opponents. 

Every  faction,  in  the  day  of  its  insolent  and  vindictive 

35  triumph,  incurred  his  censure,  and  every  faction,  when 
vanquished  and  persecuted,  found  in  him  a  protector.  To 
his  lasting  honor  it  must  be  mentioned,  that  he  attempted 
to  save  those  victims  whose  fate  has  left  the  deepest  stain 
both  on  the  Whig  and  on  the  Tory  name. 

40  He  had  greatly  distinguished  himself  in  opposition,  and 
had  thus  drawn  on  himself  the  royal  displeasure,  which 
was  indeed  so  strong  that  he  was  not  admitted  into  the 
council  of  thirty  without  much  difficulty  and  long  alterca- 
tion.    As  soon,  however,  as  he  had  obtained  a  footing  at 


EX.  LXXXn.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  345 

court,  the  charms  of  his  manner  and  of  his  conversation 
made  him  a  favorite. 

He  was  seriously  alarmed  by  the  violence  of  the  public 
discontent.  He  thought  that  liberty  was  for  the  present 
5  safe,  and  that  order  and  legitimate  authority  were  in  dan- 
ger. He  therefore,  as  was  his  fashion,  joined  himself  to 
the  weaker  side.  Perhaps  his  conversion  was  not  wholly 
disinterested.  For  study  and  reflection,  though  they  had 
emancipated  him  from  many  vulgar  prejudices,  had  left 

10  him  a  slave  to  vulgar  desires. 

Money  he  did  not  want ;  and  there  is  no  evidence  that 
he  ever  obtained  it  by  any  means  which,  in  that  age,  even 
severe  censors  considered  as  dishonorable ;  but  rank  and 
power  had  strong  attractions  for  him.     He  pretended,  in- 

15  deed,  that  he  considered  titles  and  great  offices  as  baits 
which  could  allure  none  but  fools,  that  he  hated  business, 
pomp  and  pageantry,  and  that  his  dearest  wish  was  to 
escape  from  the  bustle  and  glitter  of  Whitehall  to  the 
quiet  woods  which  surrounded  his  ancient  hall  at  Rufford ; 

20  but  his  conduct  was  noi  a  little  at  variance  with  his  profes- 
sions. In  truth,  he  wished  to  command  the  respect  at  once 
of  courtiers  and  of  philosophers;  to  be  admired  for  attaining 
high  dignities,  and  to  be  at  the  same  time  admired  for 
despising  them.  —  Macaulay. 


EXERCISE  LXXXn. 
Description  of  Eve's  first  finding  herself  on  Earth. 

25         That  day  I  oft  remember,  when  from  sleep 
f  first  awaked,  and  found  myself  reposed. 
Under  a  shade,  on  flowers,  much  wondering  where 
And  what  I  was,  whence  thither  brought,  and  how. 
Not  distant  far  from  thence  a  murmuring  sound 

30     Of  waters  issued  from  a  cave,  and  spread 
Into  a  liquid  plain,  then  stood  unmoved. 
Pure  as  the  expanse  of  heaven ;  I  thither  went 
With  unexperienced  thought,  and  laid  me  down 
On  the  green  bank,  to  look  into  the  clear 

35     Smooth  lake,  that  to  me  seemed  another  sky. 
As  I  bent  down  to  look,  just  opposite 
A  shape  within  the  watery  gleam  appeared, 
Bending  to  look  on  me  :   I  started  back, 


346  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  T,Tncni 

It  started  back :  but  pleased  I  soon  returned, 
Pleased  it  returned  as  soon,  with  answering  looks 
Of  sympathy  and  love  :   there  I  had  fixed 
Mine  eyes  till  now,  and  pined  with  vain  desire, 
5     Had  not  a  voice  thus  warned  me  :  — 

What  thou  seest, 
What  there  thou  seest,  fair  creature,  is  thyself; 
With  thee  it  came  and  goes ;  but  follow  me, 
And  I  will  bring  thee  where  no  shadow  stays 

10     Thy  coming,  and  thy  soft  embraces,  he 

Whose  image  thou  art ;  him  thou  shalt  enjoy 
Inseparably  thine,  to  him  shalt  bear 
Multitudes  like  thyself,  and  thence  be  called 
Mother  of  human  race. 

15  What  could  I  do, 

But  follow  straight,  invisibly  thus  led  ? 
Till  I  espied  thee,  fair  indeed,  and  tall, 
Under  a  plantain,  yet  methought  less  fair, 
Less  winning  soft,  less  amiably  mild, 

20     Than  that  smooth,  watery  image  :  back  I  turned  ; 
Thou  following,  criedst  aloud,  Return,  fair  Eve; 
Whom  fliest  thou  ?  whom  thou  fliest,  of  him  thou  art, 
His  flesh,  his  bone ;  to  give  thee  being  I  lent 
Out  of  my  side  to  thee,  nearest  my  heart, 

25     Substantial  life,  to  have  thee  by  my  side 
Henceforth  an  individual  solace  dear ; 
Part  of  my  soul,  I  seek  thee,  and  thee  claim, 
My  other  half.     With  that  thy  gentle  hand 
Seized  mine  ^  I  yielded :  and  from  that  time  see 

30     How  beauty  is  excelled  by  manly  grace, 

And  wisdom,  which  alone  is  truly  fair.         MUton. 


EXERCISE  LXXXIII. 

The  Cant  of  Criticism. 

And  how  did  Garrick  speak  the  soliloquy  last  night  ? 
O,  against  all  rule,  my  lord ;  most  ungrammatically  ! 
Betwixt  the  substantive  and  adjective  (which  should  agree 
35  together,  in  number,  case,  and  gender)  he  made  a  breach 
thus  —  stopping  as  if  the  point  wanted  settling.  And  after 
the  nominative  case  (which  your  lordship  knows  should 
govern  the  verb)  he  suspended  his  voice  in  the  epilogue,  a 


EX.  LXXXIV.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  347 

dozen  times,  three  seconds  and  three-fifths,  by  a  stop- 
watch, my  lord,  each  time  — 

Admirable  grammarian  !  —  But,  in  suspending  his  voice 
was  the  sense  suspended  likewise  ?     Did  no  expression  of 
5  attitude  or  countenance  fill  up  the  chasm  ?     Was  the  eye 
silent  ?     Did  you  narrowly  look  ? 

I  looked  only  at  the  stop-watch,  my  lord. 

Excellent  observer !  And  what  of  this  new  book  the 
whole  world  makes  such  a  rout  about  ? 
10  Oh !  't  is  out  of  all  plumb,  my  lord,  —  quite  an  irregular 
thing !  not  one  of  the  angles  at  the  four  comers  was  a 
right  angle.  I  had  my  rule  and  compasses,  my  lord,  in 
my  pocket. 

Excellent  critic ! 
15       And,  for  the  epic  poem  your  lordship  bid  me  look  at,  — 
upon  taking  the  length,  breadth,  height,  and  depth  of  it, 
and  trying  them  at  home  upon  an  exact  scale  of  Bossu's 

—  'tis  out,  my  lord,  in  every  one  of  its  dimensions. 
Admirable  connoisseur!     And  did  you  step  in  to  take  a 

20  look  at  the  grand  picture  in  your  way  back  ? 

'T  is  a  melancholy  daub,  my  lord ;    not  one  principle 
of  the  pyramid  in  any  one  group !  —  And  what  a  price  ! 

—  for  there  is  nothing  of  the  coloring  of  Titian  —  the  ex- 
pression of  Rubens  —  the  grace  of  Raphael  —  the  purity 

25  of  Dominichino  —  the  corregiescity  of  Correggio  —  the 
learning  of  Poussin  —  the  airs  of  Guido  —  the  taste  of  the 
Carrichis  —  or  the  grand  contour  of  Angelo  ! 

Grant  me  patience  !  —  Of  all  the  cants  which  are  canted 
in  this  canting  world  —  though  the  cant  of  hypocrisy  may 

30  be  the  worst  —  the  cant  of  criticism  is  the  most  torment- 
ing ! 1  would  go  fifty  miles  on  foot,  to  kiss  the  hand  of 

that  man  whose  generous  heart  will  give  up  the  reins  of 
his  imagination  into  his  author's  hands  —  be  pleased,  he 
knows  not  why  and  cares  not  wherefore. 


EXERCISE  LXXXIV. 

Hotspur^ s  Account  of  the  Fop. 

35  My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 

But  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 


348  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxv. 

Came  there  a  certain  lord ;  neat,  trimly  dressed ; 

Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  his  chin,  new  reaped, 

Showed  like  a  stubble  land  at  harvest  home. 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner ; 
6     And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 

A  pouncet-box,  which,  ever  and  anon, 

He  gave  his  nose 

And  still  he  smiled  and  talked : 

And,  as  the  soldiers  bare  dead  bodies  by, 
10     He  called  them  "  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 

To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 

Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility." 
With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms 

He  questioned  me ;  amongst  the  rest,  demanded 
15     My  prisoners  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 

I  then,  all  smarting  with  my  wounds,  being  galled 

To  be  so  pestered  with  a  popinjay, 

Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience. 

Answered  neglectingly  —  I  know  not  what  — 
20     He  should  or  should  not ;  for  he  made  me  mad, 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk  and  smell  so  sweet. 

And  talk  so  like  a  waiting  gentlewoman. 

Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds,  (heaven  save  the  mark !) 

And  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 
25     Was  parmacity  for  an  inward  bruise ; 

And  that  it  was  great  pity  (so  it  was) 

This  villanous  saltpetre  should  be  digged 

Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth. 

Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 
30     So  cowardly ;  and  but  for  these  vile  guns  — 

He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald,  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 

I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said ; 

And  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
35     Come  current  for  an  accusation 

Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty.     Shakspeare. 


LESSON  LXXXV. 

Extract  from  an  Address  delivered  before  the  Boston  Mer- 
cantile Library  Associatio7i,  Oct.,  1845. 

Commerce  has,  in  all  ages,  been  the  most  formidable 
antagonist  of  war.     That  great  struggle  for  the  mastery. 


EX.  LXXXV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  349 

which  has  been  going  on,  almost  from  the  earliest  syllable 
of  recorded  time,  upon  the  theatre  of  Human  life,  and 
which  has  been  variously  described  and  denominated, 
according  to  the  aspect  in  which  it  has  been  regarded,  or 
5  the  object  with  which  it  was  discussed —  now  as  a  strug- 
gle between  aristocracy  and  democracy,  and  now  as  be- 
tween the  few  and  the  many  —  has  been  little  more  than 
a  struggle  between  the  mercantile  and  the  martial  spirit. 
For  centuries,  and  cycles  of  centuries,  the  martjal  spirit 

10  has  prevailed.  The  written  history  of  the  world  is  one 
long  bloody  record  of  its  triumph.  And  it  cannot  have 
escaped  any  one,  how,  during  the  periods  of  its  sternest 
struggles,  it  has  singled  out  the  commercial  spirit  as  its 
most  formidable  foe. 

15  Look  at  ancient  Sparta,  for  example ;  the  state  which, 
more  than  any  other,  was  organized  upon  a  purely  war 
principle  ;  though,  to  the  credit  of  its  founder  be  it  spoken, 
with  the  view  of  defending  its  own  territories,  and  not  of 
encroaching  upon  the  dominions  of  others.     What  was  the 

20  first  great  stroke  of  policy  adopted  by  the  Lacedaemonian 
lawgiver  to  secure  the  supremacy  of  the  martial  spirit  ? 
What  did  he  primarily  aim  to  accomplish  by  his  extraor- 
dinary enactments  in  relation  to  food,  currency,  education, 
honesty  and  labor,  of  all  sorts  ? 

25  A  Lacedaemonian,  happening  to  be  at  Athens  when  the 
court  was  sitting,  was  informed  of  a  man  who  had  just 
been  fined  for  idleness.  "  Let  me  see  the  person,"  ex- 
claimed he,  "  who  has  been  condemned  for  keeping  up  his 
dignity  ! "     What  was  the  philosophy  of  the  black  broth,  the 

30  iron  money,  the  consummate  virtue  of  successful  theft,  the 
sublime  dignity  of  idleness?  It  was  the  war  system, 
intrenching  itself,  where  alone  it  could  be  safe,  on  the 
ruins  of  commerce !  The  annihilation  of  trade,  and  all 
its  inducements,  and  all  its  incidents  —  the  extermination 

35  of  the  mercantile  spirit,  root  and  branch  —  this  was  the 
only  mode  which  the  sagacious  Lycurgus  could  devise  for 
maintaining  the  martial  character  of  Sparta. 

Plato,  who  knew  something  of  the  practical  value  of 
commerce,  if  it  be  true  that  it  was  by  selling  oil  in  Egypt 

40  that  he  was  enabled  to  defray  the  expenses  of  those  travels 
and  studies  by  which  he  prepared  himself  to  be  one  of  the 
great  lights  of  the  world,  bore  witness  to  the  wise  adapta- 
tion of  this  policy  to  the  end  to  be  accomplished,  when  he 
declared  that  in  a  well  regulated  commonwealth  the 
30 


850  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxv. 

citizens  should  not  engage  in  commerce,  because  they 
would  be  accustomed  to  find  pretexts  for  justifying  conduct 
so  inconsistent  with  what  was  manly  and  becoming,  as 
would  relax  the  strictness  of  the  military  spirit ;  adding, 
5  that  it  had  been  better  for  the  Athenians  to  have  continued 
to  send  annually  the  sons  of  seven  of  their  principal 
citizens  to  be  devoured  by  the  Minotaur,  than  to  have 
changed  their  ancient  manners,  and  become  a  maritime 
power. 

10  It  is  this  irreconcilable  hostility  between  the  mercantile 
and  the  martial  spirit  which  has  led  heroes,  in  all  ages,  to 
despise  and  deride  the  pursuits  of  trade  —  from  the  heroes 
of  the  Homeric  age  of  ancient  Greece,  with  whom  a  pirate 
is  said  to  have  been  a  more  respected  character  than  a 

15  merchant,  to  him  of  modern  France,  who  could  find  no 
severer  sarcasm  for  his  most  hated  foes  than  to  call  them 
"  a  nation  of  shopkeepers." 

The  madman  of  Macedonia,  as  he  is  sometimes  called, 
but  to  whom,  by  one  having  occasion  for  military  talents, 

20  might  well  have  been  applied  the  remark  of  George  the 
Second,  in  reference  to  General  Wolfe,  that  he  wished,  if 
Wolfe  were  mad,  he  could  have  bitten  some  of  the  rest 
of  his  generals  —  after  he  had  overrun  almost  the  whole 
habitable  earth,  did,  indeed,  in  despair  of  finding  any  more 

25  dominions  on  the  land  to  conquer,  turn  to  the  sea,  to  obtain 
fresh  opportunity  for  gratifying  his  insatiate  ambition. 

He  projected  a  voyage  for  his  fleet,  from  the  Indus  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Euphrates.  Commercial  views  are 
sometimes  regarded  as  having  mingled  with  the  ambition 

30  which  prompted  this  undertaking.  It  has  been  called  the 
first  event  of  general  importance  to  mankind  in  the  his- 
tory of  commerce  and  navigation,  and  has  been  thought 
worthy  of  being  commemorated,  on  the  page  of  its  learned 
historian,  by  a  medallion,  on  which  the  head  of  its  heroic 

35  projector  is  illuminated  by  the  proud  inscription,  "  aperiavi 
terras  gentibus.^^ 

Let  us  transport  ourselves,  gentlemen,  for  an  instant, 
to  a  region  recently  rendered  familiar  by  the  events  of 
Afghanistan  and  Scinde ;  and,  turning  back  the  page  of 

40  history  for  a  little  more  than  two  thousand  years,  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  character  and  circumstances  of  this  memora- 
ble voyage, 

Alexander,  it  seems,  is  at  first  sorely  puzzled  to  find 
any  one  willing  to  assume  the  hazardous  dignity  of  leading 


EX.  LXXXV.]  TIHETORICAL   READING.  351 

such  an  expedition.  At  length,  Nearchua,  a  Cretan,  is 
pressed  into  the  service,  and  is  duly  installed  as  admiral 
of  the  fleet.  Two  thousand  transports  and  eighty  ^lleys, 
of  thirty  oars  each,  are  laboriously  fitted  out,  and  the  hero 
5  accompanies  them  in  person,  in  a  perilous  passage,  down 
the  Indus  to  the  ocean. 

He  approaches  the  mighty  element,  not  in  that  mood 
of  antic  and  insolent  presumption  which  other  madmen 
before  and  since  have  displayed  on  similar  occasions.     He 

10  throws  no  chains  upon  it,  as  Xerxes  is  narrated  to  have 
done,  a  century  and  a  half  earlier.  He  orders  no  host  of 
spearmen  to  charge  upon  it,  as  Caligula  did,  three  or  four 
centuries  afterwards. 

He  does  not  even  venture  to  try  the  effect  of  his  impe- 

15  rial  voice,  in  hushing  its  stormy  billows,  and  bidding  its 
proud  waves  to  stay  themselves  at  his  feet,  as  Canute  did, 
still  a  thousand  years  later.  On  the  contrary,  he  humbles 
himself  before  its  sublime  presence  —  he  offers  splendid 
sacrifices,  and  pours  out  rich   libations  to  its  divinities, 

20  and  puts  up  fervent  prayers  for  the  success  and  safety  of 
his  fleet. 

Nearchus  is  then  directed  to  wait  two  months  for  a 
favorable  monsoon.  But  a  revolt  of  certain  savage  tribes 
in  the  neighborhood   compels  him  to  anticipate  its  arrival, 

25  and  he  embarks  and  enters  upon  his  voyage.  At  the  end 
of  six  days,  —  two  of  which,  however,  were  passed  at  anchor, 
—  the  fleet  had  advanced  rather  more  than  nine  miles ! 
After  digging  away  a  bar  at  the  mouth  of  the  Indus,  a 
little  more  progress  is  made,  and  a  sandy  island  reached, 

30  on  which  all  hands  are  indulged  with  a  day's  rest. 

Again  the  anchors  are  weighed,  but  soon  again  the 
violence  of  the  winds  suspends  all  operations ;  the  whole 
host  are  a  second  time  landed,  and  remain  upon  shore  for 
four-and-twenty  days.     Once  more  the  voyage  is  renewed ; 

35  but  once  more  the  winds  rage  furiously ;  two  of  the  gal- 
leys and  a  transport  are  sunk  in  a  gale,  and  their  crews 
are  seen  swimming  for  their  lives. 

A  third  time  all  hands  disembark  and  fortify  a  camp. 
The  long-expected  monsoon  at  length  sets  in,  and  they 

40  start  afresh,  and  with  such  accelerated  speed  as  to  accom- 
plish thirty-one  miles  in  the  first  twenty-four  hours.  But 
then,  a  four  days'  battle  with  the  natives  far  more  than 
counterbalances  this  unlooked-for  speed.  Soon  after, 
however,  a  pilot  is  fallen  in  with,  who  engages  to  conduct 

45  them  to  the  Persian  Gulf. 


352  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxv. 

Under  his  auspices,  they  venture  for  the  first  time  to 
sail  by  night,  when  they  can  have  the  benefit  of  the  land 
breeze,  and  when  the  rowers,  relieved  from  the  heat  of  the 
sun,  can  exert  themselves  to  better  advantage.  And  now 
5  they  are  making  almost  twice  as  many  miles  in  the  twenty- 
four  hours  as  before,  when  lo !  a  new  trouble  arrests  their 
course.  Huge  columns  of  water  are  seen  thrown  up  into 
the  air  before  them.  The  explanation  of  the  pilot,  that 
they  are  but  the  sportful  spoutings  of  a  huge  fish,  only  adds 

10  to  their  alarm.  If  such  be  his  sport,  what  must  his  wrath 
be  ?     All  hands  drop  their  oars  in  a  panic ! 

The  admiral,  however,  exhorts  them  to  dismiss  their 
fears,  and  directs  them,  when  a  whale  advances  towards 
them,  to  bear  down  upon  it  bravely,  and  scare  it  from  their 

15  path  with  shouts,  and  dashing  of  oars,  and  sounding  of 
trumpets !  The  entrance  of  the  Persian  Gulf,  a  distance 
of  about  six  hundred  miles,  is  at  length  reached ;  the  first 
and  most  difficult  stage  of  the  enterprise  is  accomplished ; 
and  the  admiral,  having  hauled  all  his  vessels  ashore,  and 

20  fortified  them  by  a  double  intrenchment,  proceeds  to  give 
the  joyful  tidings  to  his  imperial  master,  who  has  kept 
along  at  no  great  distance  from  him  on  the  coast,  and  they 
unite  in  offering  the  sacrifices  of  thanksgiving  to  Jupiter, 
Apollo,  Hercules,  Neptune,  and  I  know  not  how  many  other 

25  deities  of  land,  air,  and  ocean ! 

Such  is  a  summary  sketch  of  this  first  event  of  general 
importance  to  mankind  in  the  history  of  navigation ;  an 
event  which,  though  its  details  may  excite  the  laughter  of 
a  Nantucket  or  New  Bedford  whaleman,  or  even  of  a 

.•to  Marblehead  or  a  Barnstable  sailor  boy,  was  counted  among 
the  gravest  and  grandest  exploits  of  that  unrivalled  hero 
of  antiquity,  who  took  Achilles  for  his  model,  and  could 
not  sleep  without  Aristotle's  copy  of  the  Iliad  under  his 
pillow. 

35  If  any  commercial  views  are  justly  ascribed  to  the  pro- 
jector of  such  an  expedition,  it  furnishes  an  early  and 
striking  illustration  of  the  idea,  which  the  general  current 
of  history  has  since  confirmed,  that  the  mercantile  and 
martial  spirits  were  never  to  be  the  subjects  of  reconcilia- 

40  tion  and  compromise,  nor  commerce  destined  to  be  seen 
yoked  to  the  car,  and  decorating  the  triumph,  of  military 
ambition. 

At  all  events,  it  supplies  an  amusing  picture  of  the  nav- 
igation of  those  early  days,  and  shows  how  poorly  provided 


EX.  LXXXV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  353 

and  appointed  was  the  mercantile  spirit  of  antiquity  for  its 
great  mission  of  civilization  and  peace.  Transports  and 
triaconters,  skimming  along  the  coast  without  a  compass, 
and  propelled  by  oarsmen  who  were  panic-stricken  at  the 
5  spouting  of  a  whale,  were  not  the  enginery  by  which  com- 
merce was  to  achieve  its  world-wide  triumphs. 

And  it  was  another  admiral  than  Nearchus,  not  yielding 
himself  reluctantly  to  the  call  of  an  imperious  sovereign, 
but  prompted  by  the  heroic  impulses  of  his  own  breast, 

10  and  offering  up  his  prayers  and  oblations  at  another  shrine 
than  that  of  Jupiter  or  Neptune,  who,  in  a  still  far  distant 
age,  was  to  open  the  world  to  the  nations,  give  the  com- 
mercial spirit  sea-room,  and  lend  the  original  impulse  to 
those  great  movements  of  navigation  and  trade  by  which 

15  the  whole  face  of  society  has  been  transformed. 

Well  might  the  mail-clad  monarchs  of  the  earth  refuse 
their  countenance  to  Columbus,  and  reward  his  matchless 
exploit  with  beggary  and  chains.  He  projected,  he  accom- 
plished that,  which,  in  its  ultimate  and  inevitable  conse- 

20  quences,  was  to  wrest  from  their  hands  the  implements  of 
their  ferocious  sport  —  to  break  their  bow  and  snap  their 
spear  in  sunder,  and  all  but  to  extinguish  the  source  of 
their  proudest  and  most  absolute  prerogative. 

"  No  kingly  conqueror,  since  time  began 
S6  The  long  career  of  ages,  hath  to  man 

A  scope  so  ample  given  for  Trade's  bold  range. 

Or  caused  on  earth's  wide  stage  such  rapid,  mighty  change." 

From  the  discovery  of  the  new  world,  the  mercantile 
spirit  has  been  rapidly  gaining  upon  its  old  antagonist; 

30  and  the  establishment  upon  these  shores  of  our  own  repub- 
lic—  whose  Union  was  the  immediate  result  of  commercial 
necessities,  whose  independence  found  its  original  impulse 
in  commercial  oppressions,  and  of  whose  constitution  the 
regulation  of  commerce  was  the  first  leading  idea  —  may 

35  be  regarded  as  the  epoch  at  which  the  martial  spirit  finally 
lost  a  supremacy  which,  it  is  believed  and  trusted,  it  can 
never  re-acquire. 

Yes,  it  is  commerce  which  is  fast  exorcising  the  fell 
spirit  of  war  from  nations  which  it  has  so  long  been  tearing 

40  and  rending.  The  merchant  may,  indeed,  almost  be  seen 
at  this  moment  summoning  the  rulers  of  the  earth  to  his 
counting-desk,  and  putting  them  under  bonds  to  keep  the 
peace. 

30* 


354 


PACKER  S    EXERCISES    IN. 


Upon  what  do  we  ourselves  rely,  to  counteract  the  influ- 
ence of  the  close  approximation  of  yonder  flaming  planet 
to  our  sphere  ?  Let  me  rather  say,  (for  it  is  not  in  our 
stars,  but  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  to  look  for  the  causes 
5  which  have  brought  the  apprehensions  of  war  once  more 
home  to  our  hearts,)  upon  what  do  we  rely,  to  save  us  from 
the  bloody  arbitrament  of  questions  of  mere  territory  and 
boundary,  into  which  our  own  arbitrary  and  ambitious 
views  would  plunge  us  ? 

10  To  what  do  we  look  to  prevent  a  protracted  strife  with 
Mexico,  if  not  to  arrest  even  the  outbreak  of  hostilities  — 
but  to  the  unwillingness  of  the  great  commercial  powers 
that  the  trade  of  the  West  Indies  and  of  the  Gulf  should 
be  interrupted  ?     Why  is  it  so  confidently  pronounced  that 

15  Great  Britain  will  never  go  to  war  with  the  United  States 
for  Oregon  ?  Why,  but  that  trade  has  created  such  a  Si- 
amese ligament  between  the  two  countries  that  every  blow 
upon  us  would  be  but  as  a  blow  of  the  right  arm  upon  the 
left?    Why,  but  that  in  the  smoke-pipe  of  every  steamer 

20  which  brings  her  merchandise  to  our  ports,  we  see  a  calu- 
met of  peace,  which  her  war-chiefs  dare  not  extinguish  ? 

Commerce  has,  indeed,  almost  realized  ideas  which  the 
poet,  in  his  wildest  fancies,  assumed  as  the  very  standard 
of  impossibility.     We  may  not  "  charm  ache  with  air,  or 

25  agony  with  words ;  "  but  may  we  not  "  fetter  strong  mad- 
ness with  a  cotton  thread  ?  "  Yes,  that  little  fibre,  which 
was  not  known  as  a  product  of  the  North  American  soil 
when  our  old  colonial  union  with  Great  Britain  was  dis- 
solved, has  already  been  spun,  by  the  ocean-moved  power- 

30  loom  of  international  commerce,  into  a  thread  which  may 
fetter  forever  the  strong  madness  of  war ! 

Hon.  R.  C.  Winthrop. 


EXERCISE  LXXXVI. 

Soliloquy  of  Claudius  [Hamlefs  Uncle)  on  the  Murder  of 
his  Brother. 

Oh  !  my  oflence  is  rank :  it  smells  to  heaven  ! 
It  hath  the  primal,  eldest  curse  upon  't !  — 
A  brother's  murder  I  —  Pray  I  cannot, 
35     Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  't  will ; 
My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent ; 


EX.  LXXXVn.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  355 

And,  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 

I  stand  in  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin, 

And  both  neglect. 

What  if  this  cursed  hand 
5     Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood ! 

Is  there  not  min  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens 

To  wash  it  white  as  snow  ?    Whereto  serves  mercy, 

But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offence  ? 

And  what 's  in  prayer,  but  this  two-fold  force ;  — 
10     To  be  forestalled,  ere  we  come  to  fall, 

Or  pardoned,  being  down?  —  Then  I'll  look  up. 
My  fault  is  past.     But,  oh  !  what  form  of  prayer 

Can  serve  my  turn  ?     Forgive  me  my  foul  murder  ? 

That  cannot  be,  since  I  am  still  possessed 
15     Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder — 

My  crown,  my  own  ambition  and  my  queen. 

May  one  be  pardoned  and  retain  the  offence  ? 

In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world, 

Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice  ; 
20     And  oft  't  is  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 

Buys  out  the  laws.     But  't  is  not  so  above. 

There  is  no  shuffling :  there  the  action  lies 

In  its  true  nature,  and  we  ourselves  compelled, 

Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
25    To  give  in  evidence. 

What  then  ?  what  rests  ? — 

Try  what  repentance  can  —  what  can  it  not  ?  — 

Yet  what  can  it,  when  one  cannot  repent  ?  — 

Oh  wretched  state  !     Oh  bosom  black  as  death !  — 
30     Oh  limed  soul,  that,  struggling  to  be  free. 

Art  more  engaged !  —  Help,  angels ! — Make  assay ! 

Bow,  stubborn  knees  !  and  heart,  with  strings  of  steel, 

Be  soft  as  sinews  of  a  new-born  babe ! 

All  may  be  well.  Shakspeare. 


EXERCISE  LXXXVn. 

Charity. 

[13th  Chapter  of  1st  Corinthians.] 

35  Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels, 
and  have  not  charity,  I  am  become  as  sounding  brass,  or  a 
tinkling  cymbal.     And  though  I  have  the  gift  of  prophecy, 


356  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  Lxxxvni. 

and  understand  all  mysteries  and  all  knowledge;  and 
though  I  have  all  faith,  so  that  I  could  remove  mountains, 
and  have  not  charity,  I  am  nothing.  And  though  I  bestow 
all  my  goods  tg  feed  the  poor,  and  though  I  give  my  body 
5  to  be  burned,  and  have  not  charity,  it  profiteth  me  nothing. 

Charity  suffereth  long,  and  is  kind ;  charity  envieth  not ; 
charity  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not  be- 
have itself  unseemly,  seeketh  not  her  own,  is  not  easily 
provoked,  thinketh  no  evil ;  rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,  but 
10  rejoiceth  in  the  truth;  beareth  all  things,  believeth  all 
things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things. 

Charity  never  faileth ;  but  whether  there  be  prophecies, 
they  shall  fail;  whether  there  be  tongues,  they  shall 
cease  ;  whether  there  be  knowledge,  it  shall  vanish  away. 
15  For  we  know  in  part,  and  we  prophesy  in  part.  But  when 
that  which  is  perfect  is  come,  then  that  which  is  in  part 
shall  be  done  away. 

When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  as  a  child,  I  understood  as 

a  child,  I  thought  as  a  child :  but  when  I  became  a  man, 

20  I  put  away  childish  things.     For  now  we  see  through  a 

glass,  darkly ;  but  then  face  to  face :  now  I  know  in  part ; 

but  then  shall  1  know  even  as  also  I  am  known. 

And  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  charity,  these  three ;  but 
the  greatest  of  these  is  charity. 


EXERCISE  LXXXVm. 
Farewell. 

25      Farewell  !  but  whenever  you  welcome  the  hour, 
Which  awakens  the  night  song  of  mirth  in  your  bower, 
Then  think  of  the  friend  who  once  welcomed  it  too, 
And  forgot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with  you. 
His  griefs  may  return ;  not  a  hope  may  remain, 

30  Of  the  few  that  have  brightened  his  pathway  of  pain, 
But  he  ne'er  will  forget  the  short  vision  that  threw 
Its  enchantments  around  him,  while  lingering  with  you. 

And  still  on  that  evening,  when  pleasure  fills  up 
To  the  highest  top  sparkle  each  heart  and  each  cup, 

35  Where'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 

My  soul,  happy  friends  !  shall  be  with  you  that  night ;  - 
Shall  join  in  your  revels,  your  sports  and  your  wiles, 
And  return  to  me,  beaming  all  o'er  with  vour  smiles !  — 


EX.  LXXXIX.]  RHETORICAL  READING.  357 

Too  blest,  if  it  tells  me,  that,  'mid  the  gay  cheer, 

Some  kind  voice  had  murmured,  "  I  wish  he  were  here ! " 

Let  fate  do  her  worst ;  there  are  relics  of  joy, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy ; 
5  And  which  come,  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care, 
To  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  filled !  — 
Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distilled  — 
You  may  break,  you  may  ruin,  the  vase  if  you  will, 
10  But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still. 

T.  Mo&re, 


EXERCISE  LXXXIX. 

English  Travellers. 

In  the  present  age  of  high  literary  activity,  travellers 
make  not  the  least  important  demands  on  public  attention, 
and  their  lucubrations,  under  whatever  name  —  Rambles, 
Notices,  Incidents,  Pencillings  —  are  nearly  as  important 

15  a  staple  for  the  "  trade  "  as  novels  and  romances.  A  book 
of  travels,  formerly,  was  a  very  serious  affair.  The  trav- 
eller set  out  on  his  distant  journey  with  many  a  solemn 
preparation,  made  his  will,  and  bade  adieu  to  his  friends 
like  one  who  might  not  again  return.     If  he  did  return, 

20  the  results  were  imbodied  in  a  respectable  folio,  or  at  least 
quarto,  well  garnished  with  cuts,  and  done  up  in  a  solid 
form,  which  argued  that  it  was  no  fugitive  publication,  but 
destined  for  posterity. 

All  this  is  changed.     The  voyager  nowadays  leaves 

25  home  with  as  little  ceremony  and  leave-taking  as  if  it 
were  for  a  morning's  drive.  He  steps  into  the  bark  that 
is  to  carry  him  across  thousands  of  miles  of  ocean,  with 
the  moral  certainty  of  returning  in  a  fixed  week,  almost 
at  a  particular  day.     Parties  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  go 

30  whizzing  along  in  their  steamships  over  the  track  which 
cost  so  many  weary  days  to  the  Argonauts  of  old,  and  run 
over  the  choicest  scenes  of  classic  antiquity,  scattered 
through  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  in  less  time  than  it 
formerly  took  to  go  from  one  end  of  the  British  isles  to 

35  the  other. 

The  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  so  long  the  great  stumbling- 
block  to  the  navigators  of  Europe,  is  doubled,  or  the  Red 
Sea  coasted,  in  the  same  way,  by  the  fashionable  tourist, 


358  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxix. 

—  who  glides  along  the  shores  of  Arabia,  Persia,  Afghan- 
istan, Bombay,  and  Hindostan,  further  than  the  furthest 
limits  of  Alexander's  conquests  —  before  the  last  leaves  of 
the  last  new  novel  which  he  has  taken  by  the  way  are 
5  fairly  cut.  The  facilities  of  communication  have,  in  fact, 
so  abridged  distances,  that  geography,  as  we  have  hitherto 
studied  it,  may  be  said  to  be  entirely  reformed.  Instead 
of  leagues,  we  now  compute  by  hours,  and  we  find  our- 
selves next-door  neighbors  to  those  whom  we  had  looked 

10  upon  as  at  the  antipodes. 

The  consequence  of  these  improvements  in  the  means 
of  intercourse  is,  that  all  the  world  goes  abroad,  or,  at 
least,  one  half  is  turned  upon  the  other.  Nations  are  so 
mixed  up  by  this  process  that  they  are  in  some  danger  of 

15  losing  their  idiosyncrasy ;  and  the  Egyptian  and  the 
Turk,  though  they  still  cling  to  their  religion,  are  becom- 
ing European  in  their  notions  and  habits  more  and  moro 
every  day. 

The  taste  for  pilgrimage,  however,  it  must  be  owned, 

20  does  not  stop  with  the  countries  where  it  can  be  carried 
on  with  such  increased  facility.  It  has  begotten  a  nobler 
spirit  of  adventure,  something  akin  to  what  existed  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  when  the  world  was  new,  or  newly  dis- 
covering, and  a  navigator  who  did  not  take  in  sail,  like 

25  the  cautious  seamen  of  Knickerbocker,  might  run  down 
some  strange  continent  in  the  dark ;  for  in  these  times  of 
dandy  tourists  and  travel-mongers,  the  boldest  achieve- 
ments, that  have  hitherto  defied  the  most  adventurous 
spirits,  have  been  performed:  the  Himmaleh  Mountains 

30  have  been  scaled,  the  Niger  ascended,  the  burning  heart 
of  Africa  penetrated,  the  icy  Arctic  and  Antarctic  explored, 
and  the  mysterious  monuments  of  the  semi-civilized  races 
of  Central  America  have  been  thrown  open  to  the  public 
gaze.     It  is  certain  that  this  is  a  high-pressure  age,  and 

35  every  department  of  science  and  letters,  physical  and  men- 
tal, feels  its  stimulating  influence. 

No  nation,  on  the  whole,  has  contributed  so  largely  to 
these  itinerant  exhibitions  as  the  English.  Uneasy,  it 
would  seem,  at  being  cooped  up  in  their  little  isle,  they 

40  sally  forth  in  all  directions,  swarming  over  the  cultivated 
and  luxurious  countries  of  the  neighboring  continent,  or 
sending  out  stragglers  on  other  more  distant  and  formida- 
ble missions.  Whether  it  be  that  their  soaring  spirits  are 
impatient  of  the  narrow  quarters  which   nature  has  as- 


EX.  Lxxxix.J  khp:torical  heading.  359 

signed  them,  or  that  there  exists  a  supernumerary  class  of 
idlers,  who,  wearied  with  the  monotony  of  home,  and  the 
same  dull  round  of  dissipation,  seek  excitement  in  strange 
scenes  and  adventures ;  or  whether  they  go  abroad  for  the 
5  sunshine,  of  which  they  have  heard  so  much  but  seen  so 
little  —  whatever  be  the  cause,  they  furnish  a  far  greater 
number  of  tourists  than  all  the  world  besides.  We  Amer- 
icans, indeed,  may  compete  with  them  in  mere  locomotion, 
for  our  familiarity  with  magnificent  distances  at  home 

10  makes  us  still  more  indifferent  to  them  abroad ;  but  this 
locomotion  is  generally  in  the  way  of  business,  and  the 
result  is  rarely  shown  in  a  book,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  the 
ledger. 

Yet  John  Bull  is,  on  many  accounts,  less  fitted  than 

15  most  of  his  neighbors  for  the  duties  of  a  traveller.  How- 
ever warm  and  hospitable  in  his  own  home,  he  has  a  cold 
reserve  in  his  exterior,  a  certain  chilling  atmosphere,  which 
he  carries  along  with  him,  that  freezes  up  the  sympathies 
of  strangers,  and  which  is  only  to  be  completely  thawed 

20  by  long  and  intimate  acquaintance.  But  the  traveller  has 
no  time  for  intimate  acquaintances.  He  must  go  forward, 
and  trust  to  his  first  impressions,  for  they  will  also  be  his 
last. 

Unluckily,  it  rarely  falls  out  that  the  first  impressions 

25  of  honest  John  are  very  favorable.  There  is  too  much 
pride,  not  to  say  hauteur,  in  his  composition,  which,  with 
the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  will  show  itself  in  a  way 
not  particularly  flattering  to  those  who  come  in  contact 
with  him.     He  goes  through  a  strange  nation,  treading  on 

30  all  their  little  irritable  prejudices,  shocking  their  self-love 
and  harmless  vanities  —  in  short,  going  against  the  grain, 
and  roughing  up  everything  by  taking  it  the  wrong  way. 
Thus  he  draws  out  the  bad  humors  of  the  people  among 
whom  he  moves,  sees  them  in  their  most  unamiable  and 

35  by  no  means  natural  aspect  —  in  short,  looks  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  tapestry.  What  wonder  if  his  notions  are 
somewhat  awry  as  to  what  he  sees  !  There  are,  it  is  true, 
distinguished  exceptions  to  all  this :  English  travellers, 
who  cover  the  warm  heart  —  as  warm  as  it  is  generally 

40  true  and  manly  —  under  a  kind  and  sometimes  cordial 
manner ;  but  they  are  the  exceptions.  The  Englishman 
undoubtedly  appears  best  on  his  own  soil,  where  his  na- 
tional predilections  and  prejudices,  or,  at  least,  the  intima- 
tion of  them,  are  somewhat  mitigated  in  deference  to  his 

45  guest. 


360  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxix. 

Another  source  of  the  disqualification  of  John  Bull  as 
a  calm  and  philosophic  traveller  is  the  manner  in  which 
he  has  been  educated  at  home  ;  the  soft  luxuries  by  which 
he  has  been  surrounded  from  his  cradle  have  made  luxu- 
5  ries  necessaries,  and,  accustomed  to  perceive  all  the  ma- 
chinery of  life  glide  along  as  noiselessly  and  as  swiftly  as 
the  foot  of  Time  itself,  he  becomes  morbidly  sensitive  to 
every  temporary  jar  or  derangement  in  the  working  of  it. 
In  no  country,  since  the  world  was  made,  have  all  the 

10  appliances  for  mere  physical,  and,  we  may  add,  intellectu- 
al indulgence,  been  carried  to  such  perfection  as  in  this 
little  island  nucleus  of  civilization.  Nowhere  can  a  man 
get  such  returns  for  his  outlay.  The  whole  organization 
of  society  is  arranged  so  as  to  minister  to  the  comforts  of 

15  the  wealthy ;  and  an  Englishman,  with  the  golden  talis- 
man in  his  pocket,  can  bring  about  him  genii  to  do  his 
bidding,  and  transport  himself  over  distances  with  a 
thought,  almost  as  easy  as  if  he  were  the  possessor  of 
Aladdin's  magic  lamp,  and  the  fairy  carpet  of  the  Arabian 

20  Tales. 

When  he  journeys  over  his  little  island,  his  comforts 
and  luxuries  cling  as  close  to  him  as  round  his  own  fire- 
side. He  rolls  over  roads  as  smooth  and  well-beaten  as 
those  in  his  own  park ;  is  swept  onward  by  sleek  and  well- 

25  groomed  horses,  in  a  carriage  as  soft  and  elastic,  and  quite 
as  showy,  as  his  own  equipage ;  puts  up  at  inns  that  may 
vie  with  his  own  castle  in  their  comforts  and  accommoda- 
tions, and  is  received  by  crowds  of  obsequious  servants, 
more  solicitous,  probably,  even  than  his  own,  to  win  his 

30  golden  smiles.  In  short,  wherever  he  goes,  he  may  be 
said  to  carry  with  him  his  castle,  park,  equipage,  estab- 
lishment. The  whole  are  in  movement  together.  He 
changes  place,  indeed,  but  changes  nothing  else.  For 
travelling,  as  it  occurs  in  other  lands  —  hard  roads,  harder 

35  beds,  and  hardest  fare — he  knows  no  more  of  it  than  if 
he  had  been  passing  from  one  wing  of  his  castle  to  the 
other. 

All  this,  it  must  be  admitted,  is  rather  an  indifferent 
preparation  for  a  tour  on  the  continent.     Of  what  avail 

40  is  it  that  Paris  is  the  most  elegant  capital,  France  the 
most  enlightened  country,  on  the  European  terra  firma, 
if  one  cannot  walk  in  the  streets  without  the  risk  of  being 
run  over  for  want  of  a  trottoir,  nor  move  on  the  roads 
without   being   half  smothered   in  a  lumbering  vehicle, 


EX.  LXXXIX.J  RHETORICAL   READING.  361 

dragged  by  ropes,  at  the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour  ?  Of 
what  account  are  the  fine  music  and  paintings,  the  archi- 
tecture and  art,  of  Italy,  when  one  must  shiver  by  day  for 
want  of  carpets  and  sea-coal  fires,  and  be  thrown  into  a 
5  fever  at  night  by  the  active  vexations  of  a  still  more  tor- 
menting kind  ?  The  galled  equestrian  might  as  well  be 
expected  to  feel  nothing  but  raptures  and  ravishment  at 
the  fine  scenery  through  which  he  is  riding.  It  is  prob- 
able he  will  think  much  more  of  his  own  petty  hurts  than 

10  of  the  beauties  of  nature.  A  travelling  John  Bull,  if  his 
skin  is  not  otf,  is  at  least  so  thin-skinned  that  it  is  next 
door  to  being  so. 

If  the  European  neighborhood  affords  so  many  means 
of  annoyance  to  the  British  traveller,  they  are  incalculably 

15  multiplied  on  this  side  of  the  water,  and  that,  too,  under 
circumstances  which  dispose  him  still  less  to  charity  in  his 
criticisms  and  constructions.  On  the  continent  he  feels  he 
is  among  strange  races,  born  and  bred  under  different  reli- 
gious and  political  institutions,  and,  above  all,  speaking 

20  different  languages.  He  does  not  necessarily,  therefore, 
measure  them  by  his  peculiar  standard,  but  allows  them 
one  of  their  own.  The  dissimilarity  is  so  great  in  all  the 
main  features  of  national  polity  and  society,  that  it  is  hard 
to  institute  a  comparison. 

25  Whatever  be  his  contempt  for  the  want  of  progress  and 
perfection  in  the  science  of  living,  he  comes  to  regard 
them  as  a  distinct  race,  amenable  to  different  laws,  and 
therefore  licensed  to  indulge  in  different  usages,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  from  his  own.     If  a  man  travels  in  China,  he 

30  makes  up  his  mind  to  chop-sticks.  If  he  should  go  to  the 
moon,  he  would  not  be  scandalized  by  seeing  people  walk 
with  their  heads  under  their  arms.  He  has  embarked  on 
a  different  planet.  It  is  only  in  things  which  run  parallel 
to  those  in  his  own  country  that  a  comparison  can  be  insti- 

35  tuted,  and  charity  too  often  fails  where  criticism  begins. 
Unhappily,   in  America,  the   Englishman  finds  these 
points  of  comparison  forced  on  him  at  every  step.     He 
lands  among  a  people  speaking  the  same  language,  pro- 
fessing the  same  religion,  drinking  at  the  same  fountains 

40  of  literature,  trained  in  the  same  occupations  of  active  life. 
The  towns  are  built  on  much  the  same  model  with  those 
in  his  own  land.  The  brick  houses,  the  streets,  the  "  side- 
walks," the  in-door  arrangements,  all,  in  short,  are  near 
enough  on  the  same  pattern  to  provoke  a  comparison.  Ala« 
31 


362  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxix. 

for  the  comparison  !  The  cities  sink  at  once  into  mere 
provincial  towns  ;  the  language  degenerates  into  a  pro- 
vincial patois  ;  the  manners,  the  fashions,  down  to  the  cut 
of  the  clothes,  and  the  equipages,  all  are  provincial.     The 

5  people,  the  whole  nation  —  as  independent  as  any,  cer- 
tainly, if  not,  as  our  orators  fondly  descant,  the  best  and 
most  enlightened  upon  earth  —  dwindle  into  a  mere  British 
colony. 

The  traveller  does  not  seem  to  understand  that  he  is 

10  treading  the  soil  of  the  new  world,  where  everything  is 
new,  where  antiquity  dates, but  from  yesterday,  where  the 
present  and  the  future  are  all  and  the  past  nothing,  where 
hope  is  the  watchword  and  "  Go  ahead ! "  the  principle 
of  action.     He   does  not  comprehend  that  when  he  sets 

15  foot  on  such  a  land  he  is  no  longer  to  look  for  old  hered- 
itary landmarks,  old  time-honored  monuments  and  institu- 
tions, old  families  that  have  vegetated  on  the  same  soil 
since  the  Conquest.  He  must  be  content  to  part  with  the 
order,  and  something  of  the  decorum,  incident  to  an  old 

20  community,  where  the  ranks  are  all  precisely  and  punctil- 

)  iously  defined,  where  the  power  is  deposited  by  prescrip- 
tive right  in  certain  privileged  hands,  and  where  the  great 
mass  have  the  careful  obsequiousness  of  dependents,  look- 
ing for  the  crumbs  that  fall. 

25  He  is  now  among  a  new  people,  where  everything  is  in 
movement,  all  struggling  to  get  forward,  and  where,  though 
many  go  adrift  in  their  wild  spirit  of  adventure,  and  a 
temporary  check  may  be  sometimes  felt  by  all,  the  great 
mass  still  advances.     He  is  landed  on  a  hemisphere  where 

30  fortunes  are  to  be  made,  and  men  are  employed  in  getting, 
not  in  spending  —  a  difference  which  explains  so  many  of 
the  discrepancies  between  the  structure  of  our  own  society 
and  habits  and  those  of  the  old  world.  To  know  how  to 
spend  is  itself  a  science ;  and  the  science  of  spending  and 

35  that  of  getting  are  rarely  held  by  the  same  hand. 

In  such  a  state  of  things,  the  whole  arrangement  of  soci- 
ety, notwithstanding  the  apparent  resemblance  to  that  in 
his  own  country,  and  its  real  resemblance  in  minor  points, 
is  reversed.     The  rich  proprietor,  who  does  nothing  but 

40  fatten  on  his  rents,  is  no  longer  at  the  head  of  the  scale,  as 
in  the  old  world.  The  man  of  enterprise  takes  the  lead 
in  a  bustling  community,  where  action  and  progress,  or  at 
least  change,  are  the  very  conditions  of  existence.  The 
upper  classes  —  if  the  term  can  be  used  in  a  complete 


EX.  LXXXlX.j  RHETORICAL   READING.  363 

democracy  —  have  not  the  luxurious  finish  and  accommo- 
dations to  be  found  in  the  other  hemisphere.  The  hum- 
bler classes  have  not  the  poverty-stricken,  cringing  spirit 
of  hopeless  inferiority.  The  pillar  of  society,  if  it  want 
5  the  Corinthian  capital,  wants  also  the  heavy  and  superflu- 
ous base.  Every  man  not  only  professes  to  be,  but  is 
practically,  on  a  footing  of  equality  with  his  neighbor.  The 
traveller  must  not  expect  to  meet  here  the  deference,  or 
even  the  courtesies,  which  grow  out  of  distinction  of  castes. 

10  This  is  an  awkward  dilemma  for  one  whose  nerves 
have  never  been  jarred  by  contact  with  the  profane  ;  who 
has  never  been  tossed  about  in  the  rough  and  tumble  of 
humanity.  It  is  little  to  him  that  the  poorest  child  in  the 
community  learns  how  to  read  and  write  ;  that  the  poorest 

15  man  can  have ; —  what  Henry  the  Fourth  so  good-naturedly 
wished  for  the  humblest  of  his  subjects  —  a  fowl  in  his 
pot  every  day  for  his  dinner ;  that  no  one  is  so  low  but 
that  he  may  aspire  to  all  the  rights  of  his  fellow-men,  and 
find  an  open  theatre  on  which  to  display  his  own  peculiar 

20  talents. 

As  the  tourist  strikes  into  the  interior,  difficulties  of  all 
sorts  multiply,  incident  to  a  raw  and  unformed  country. 
The  comparison  with  the  high  civilization  at  home  becomes 
more  and  more  unfavorable,  as  he  is  made  to  feel  that  in 

25  this  land  of  promise  it  must  be  long  before  promise  can 
become  the  performance  of  the  old  world.  And  yet,  if  he 
would  look  beyond  the  surface,  he  would  see  that  much 
here  too  has  been  performed,  however  much  may  be 
wanting.     He  would  see  lands  over  which  the  wild  Indian 

SO  roamed  as  a  hunting-ground  teeming  with  harvests  for  the 
consumption  of  millions  at  home  and  abroad;  forests, 
which  have  shot  up,  ripened  and  decayed,  on  the  same 
spot  ever  since  the  creation,  now  swept  away  to  make 
room  for  towns  and  villages,  thronged  with  an  industrious 

35  population;  rivers,  which  rolled  on  in  their  solitudes, 
undisturbed  except  by  the  wandering  bark  of  the  savage, 
now  broken  and  dimpled  by  hundreds  of  steamboats, 
freighted  with  the  rich  tribute  of  a  country  rescued  from 
the  wilderness. 

40  He  would  not  expect  to  meet  the  careful  courtesies  of 
polished  society  in  the  pioneers  of  civilization,  whose  mis- 
sion has  been  to  recover  the  great  continent  from  the  bear 
and  the  buffalo.  He  would  have  some  charity  for  their 
ignorance  of  the  latest  fashions  of  Bond-street,  and  their 


364  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  lxxxix. 

departure,  sometimes,  even  from  what,  in  the  old  country,  is 
considered  as  the  decorum,  and,  it  may  be,  decencies  of 
life.  But  not  so ;  his  heart  turns  back  to  his  own  land, 
and  closes  against  the  rude  scenes  around  him ;  for  he 
5  finds  here  none  of  the  soft  graces  of  cultivation,  or  the  hal- 
lowed memorials  of  an  early  civilization ;  no  gray,  weather- 
beaten  cathedrals,  telling  of  the  Normans;  no  Gothic 
churches  in  their  groves  of  venerable  oaks ;  no  moss-cov- 
ered cemeteries,  in  which  the  dustof  his  fathers  has  been 

10  gathered  since  the  time  of  the  Plantagenets ;  no  rural 
cottages,  half  smothered  with  roses  and  honeysuckles,  inti- 
mating that  even  in  the  most  humble  abodes  the  taste  for 
the  beautiful  has  found  its  way ;  no  trim  gardens,  and 
fields  blossoming  with  hawthorn  hedges  and  miniature 

15  culture;  no  ring  fences,  enclosing  well-shaven  lawns, 
woods  so  disposed  as  to  form  a  picture  of  themselves, 
bright  threads  of  silvery  water,  and  sparkling  fountains. 

All  these  are  wanting,  and  his  eyes  turn  with  disgust 
from  the  wild  and  rugged  features  of  nature,  and  all  her 

20  rough  accompaniments  —  from  man  almost  as  wild ;  and 
his  heart  sickens  as  he  thinks  of  his  own  land,  and  all  its 
scenes  of  beauty.  He  thinks  not  of  the  poor,  who  leave 
that  land  for  want  of  bread,  and  find  in  this  a  kindly 
welcome,  and  the  means  of  independence  and  advancement 

25  which  their  own  denies  them. 

He  goes  on,  if  he  be  a  splenetic  Sinbad,  discharging  his 
sour  bile  on  everybody  that  he  comes  in  contact  with,  thus 
producing  an  amiable  ripple  in  the  current  as  he  proceeds, 
that  adds  marvellously,  no  doubt,  to  his  own  quiet  and 

30  personal  comfort.  If  he  have  a  true  merry  vein  and 
hearty  good  nature,  he  gets  on,  laughing  sometimes  in  his 
sleeve  at  others,  and  cracking  his  jokes  on  the  unlucky 
pate  of  Brother  Jonathan,  who,  if  he  is  not  very  silly  — 
which  he  very  often  is  —  laughs  too,  and  joins  in  the  jest, 

35  though  it  may  be  somewhat  at  his  own  expense. 

It  matters  little  whether  the  tourist  be  Whig  or  Tory  in 
his  own  land ;  if  the  latter,  he  returns,  probably,  ten  times 
the  conservative  that  he  was  when  he  left  it.  If  Whig,  or 
even  Radical,  it  matters  not ;   his  loyalty  waxes  warmer 

40  and  warmer  with  every  step  of  his  progress  among  the 
republicans ;  and  he  finds  that  practical  democracy,  shoul- 
dering and  elbowing  its  neighbors  as  it  "goes  ahead," 
is  no  more  like  the  democracy  which  he  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  admire  in  theory,  than  the  real  machinery,  with 

45  its  smell,  smoke,  and  clatter,  under  full  operation,  is  like 


EX.  XC.J  RHETORICAL   READLNG.  365 

the  pretty  toy  which  he  sees  as  a  model  in  the  Patent 
Office  at  Washington.  —  W.  H.  Prescott. 


EXERCISE  XC. 

Speak  Gently. 

Speak  gently !  it  is  better  far 
To  rule  by  love  than  fear ; 
6  Speak  gently !  let  not  harsh  words  mar 

The  good  we  might  do  here. 

Speak  gently !  Love  doth  whisper  low 
The  vows  that  true  hearts  bind, 
And  gently  Friendship's  accents  flow, 
10  Affection's  voice  is  kind. 

Speak  gently  to  the  little  child,  — 
Its  love  be  sure  to  gain,  — 
Teach  it  in  accents  soft  and  mild,  — 
It  may  not  long  remain. 
16  Speak  gently  to  the  aged  one, 

Grieve  not  the  care-worn  heart ; 
The  sands  of  life  are  nearly  run  — 
Let  such  in  peace  depart. 

Speak  gently  to  the  young,  for  they 
20  Will  have  enough  to  bear ; 

Pass  through  this  life  as  best  they  may, 
'T  is  full  of  anxious  care. 

Speak  gently,  kindly,  to  the  poor, 
Let  no  harsh  tones  be  heard ; 
25  They  have  enough  they  must  endure 

Without  an  unking  word. 

Speak  gently  to  the  erring  ;   know 
They  may  have  toiled  in  vain ; 
Perchance  unkindness  made  them  so,  — 
30  Oh  !  win  them  back  again  ;  — 

Speak  gently !     He  who  gave  his  life 
To  bend  man's  stubborn  will, 
When  elements  were  in  fierce  strife 
Said  to  them,  "  Peace,  be  still !  " 
35  Speak  gently  !  't  is  a  little  thing 

Dropped  in  the  heart's  deep  well, 
The  good,  the  joy, which  it  may  bring, 
Eternity  shall  teU. 
31# 


366  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xci. 

EXERCISE  XCI. 

Extract  of  a  Speech  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  dis- 
avoimng  a  National-  Hostility  to  Great  Britain. 

Mr.  President,  we  must  distinguish  a  little.  That 
there  exists  in  this  country  an  intense  sentiment  of  nation- 
ality ;  a  cherished  energetic  feeling  and  consciousness  of 
our  independent  and  separate  national  existence ;  a  feeling 
5  that  we  have  a  transcendent  destiny  to  fulfil,  which  we 
mean  to  fulfil ;  a  great  work  to  do,  which  we  know  how 
to  do,  and  are  able  to  do ;  a  career  to  run,  up  which  we 
hope  to  ascend,  till  we  stand  on  the  steadfast  and  glittering 
summits  of  the  world ;  a  feeling,  that  we  are  surrounded 

10  and  attended  by  a  noble  historical  group  of  competitors 
and  rivals,  the  other  nations  of  the  earth,  all  of  whom  we 
hope  to  overtake,  and  even  to  distance ;  —  such  a  senti- 
ment as  this  exists,  perhaps,  in  the  character  of  this 
people. 

15  And  this  I  do  not  discourage ;  I  do  not  condemn.  It  is 
easy  to  ridicule  it.  But,  "grand,  swelling  sentiments" 
of  patriotism,  no  wise  man  will  despise.  They  have  their 
uses.  They  help  to  give  a  great  heart  to  a  nation ;  to 
animate  it  for  the  various  conflicts  of  its  lot ;  to  assist  it 

20  to  work  out  for  itself  a  more  exceeding  weight,  and  to  fill 
a  larger  measure  of  glory.  But,  sir,  that  among  these 
useful  and  beautiful  sentiments,  predominant  among  them, 
there  exists  a  temper  of  hostility  towards  this  one  particu- 
lar nation,  to  such  a  degree  as  to  amount  to  a  habit,  a 

25  trait,  a  national  passion  —  to  amount  to  a  state  of  feeling 
which  "  is  to  be  regretted,"  and  which  really  threatens 
another  war  —  this  I  earnestly  and  confidently  deny.  I 
would  not  hear  your  enemy  say  this. 

Sir,  the  indulgence  of  such  a  sentiment  by  the  people 

30  supposes  them  to  have  forgotten  one  of  the  counsels  of 
Washington.  Call  to  mind  the  ever  seasonable  wisdom 
of  the  Farewell  Address :  "  The  nation  which  indulges 
towards  another  an  habitual  hatred,  or  an  habitual  fond- 
ness, is,  in  some  degree,  a  slave.     It  is  a  slave  to  its  ani- 

35  mosity,  or  to  its  affection,  either  of  which  is  sufficient  to 
lead  it  astray  from  its  duty  and  its  interest." 

No,  sir!  no,  sir!  We  are  above  all  this.  Let  the 
Highland  clansman,  half  naked,  half  civilized,  half  blinded 
by  the  peat-smoke  of  his  cavern,  have  his  hereditary  enemy 

40  and  his  hereditary  enmity,  and  keep  the  keen,  deep,  and 


EX.  XCI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  367 

precious  hatred,  set  on  fire  of  hell,  alive  if  he  can ;  let  the 
North  American  Indian  have  his,  and  hand  it  down  from 
father  to  son,  by  Heaven  knows  what  symbols  of  alligators, 
and  rattle-snakes,  and  war-clubs,  smeared  with  vermilion 
5  and  entwined  with  scarlet ;  let  such  a  country  as  Poland, 
—  cloven  to  the  earth,  the  armed  heel  on  the  radiant  fore- 
head, her  body  dead,  her  soul  incapable  to  die,  —  let  her 
remember  the  "wrongs  of  days  long  past;"  let  the  lost 
and  wandering  tribes  of  Israel  remember  theirs  —  the  man- 

10  liness  and  the  sympathy  of  the  world  may  allow  or  pardon 
this  to  them ;  —  but  shall  America,  young,  free,  prosperous, 
just  setting  out  on  the  highway  of  heaven,  "  decorating 
and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she  just  begins  to  move 
in,  glittering  like  the  morning  star,  full  of  life  and  joy," 

15  shall  she  be  supposed  to  be  polluting  and  corroding  her 
noble  and  happy  heart,  by  moping  over  old  stories  of  stamp 
act,  and  tea  tax,  and  the  firing  of  the  Leopard  upon  the 
Chesapeake  in  a  time  of  peace  ? 

No,  sir !  no,  sir  I  a  thousand  times  no  !     Why,  I  pro- 

20  test  I  thought  all  that  had  been  settled.  I  thought  two 
wars  had  settled  it  all.  What  else  was  so  much  good 
blood  shed  for,  on  so  many  more  than  classical  fields  of 
revolutionary  glory  ?  For  what  was  so  much  good  blood 
more  lately  shed,  at  Lundy's  Lane,  at  Fort  Erie,  before 

25  and  behind  the  lines  at  New  Orleans,  on  the  deck  of  the 
Constitution,  on  the  deck  of  the  Java,  on  the  lakes,  on 
the  sea,  but  to  settle  exactly  these  "wrongs  of  past 
days  ? " 

And  have  we  come  back  sulky  and  sullen  from  the 

30  very  field  of  honor  ?  For  my  country,  I  deny  it.  The 
senator^  says  that  our  people  still  remember  these  "  former 
scenes  of  wrong,  with,  perhaps,  too  deep"  a  sensibility; 
and  that,  as  I  interpret  him,  they  nourish  a  "  too  exten- 
sive"   national   enmity.      How   so?      If  the   feeling   he 

35  attributes  to  them  is  moral,  manly,  creditable,  how  comes 
it  to  be  too  deep?  and  if  it  is  immoral,  unmanly,  and 
unworthy,  why  is  it  charged  on  them  at  all  ? 

Is  there  a  member  of  this  body,  who  would  stand  up  in 
any  educated,  in  any  intelligent  and  right-minded  circle 

40  which  he  respected,  and  avow  that,  for  his  part,  he  must 
acknowledge,  that,  looking  back  through  the  glories  and 
the  atonement  of  two  wars,  his  views  were  full  of  ill  blood 
to  England ;  that  in  peace  he  could  not  help  being  her 

♦  Mr.  Buchanan,  of  Pennsylvania. 


368  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xcii. 

enemy;  that  he  could  not  pluck  out  the  deep-wrought 
convictions  and  "the  immortal  hate"  of  the  old  times? 
Certainly,  not  one.  And  then,  sir,  that  which  we  feel 
would  do  no  honor  for  ourselves  shall  we  confess  for  our 
5  country  ? 

Mr.  President,  let  me  say,  that  in  my  judgment  this 
notion  of  a  national  enmity  of  feeling  towards  Great  Brit- 
ain, belongs  to  a  past  age  of  our  history.  My  younger 
countrymen  are  unconscious  of  it.  They  disavow  it. 
10  That  generation,  in  whose  opinions  and  feelings  the 
actions  and  the  destiny  of  the  next  are  unfolded,  as  the 
tree  in  the  germ,  do  not  at  all  comprehend  your  meaning, 
nor  your  fears,  nor  your  regrets. 

We  are  born  to  happier  feelings.  We  look  to  England 
15  as  we  look  to  France.  We  look  to  them,  from  our  new 
world,  —  not  unrenowned,  yet  a  new  world  still,  —  and 
the  blood  mounts  to  our  cheeks;  our  eyes  swim;  our 
voices  are  stifled  with  emulousness  of  so  much  glory ;  their 
trophies  will  not  let  us  sleep  :  but  there  is  no  hatred  at  all ; 
20  no  hatred  —  no  barbarian  memory  of  wrongs,  for  which 
brave  men  have  made  the  last  expiation  to  the  brave. 

Hon.  Rufus  Ckoate. 
•— ♦ 

EXERCISE  XCn. 
Tim  Bird  let  loose  in  Eastern  Skies. 

The  bird,  let  loose  in  eastern  skies,^ 

When  hastening  fondly  home, 

Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies 
25  Where  idle  warblers  roam. 

But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

Above  all  low  delay, 

Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 
30  So  grant  me,  God,  from  every  care 

And  stain  of  passion  free, 

Aloft,  through  virtue's  purer  air, 

To  hold  my  course  to  thee  ! 

No  sin  to  cloud  —  no  lure  to  stay 
35  My  soul,  as  home  she  springs  :  — 

Thy  sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 

Thy  freedom  in  her  wings  !  T.  Moore. 

*  The  carrier  pigeon,  it  is  well  known,  flies  at  an  elevated  pitch,  in  ord^i 
to  surmount  every  obstacle  between  her  and  the  place  to  which  she  is  destined. 


EX.  XCIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  369 

EXERCISE  XCni. 
The  Prodigal  So7i. 

From  The  Goapel  According  to  St.  Luke,  Chapter  XV. 

Then  drew  near  unto  him  all  the  publicans  and  sinners 
for  to  hear  him.  And  the  Pharisees  and  scribes  mur- 
mured, saying,  This  man  receiveth  sinners,  and  eateth 
with  them. 
5  And  he  spake  this  parable  unto  them,  saying",  What 
man  of  you  having  a  hundred  sheep,  if  he  lose  one  of  them, 
doth  not  leave  the  ninety  and  nine  in  the  wilderness,  and 
go  after  that  which  he  has  lost,  until  he  find  it  ?  And 
when  he  hath  found  it,  he  layeth  it  on  his  shoulders, 

10  rejoicing.     And  when  he    cometh  home,  he  calleth    to- 
gether his  friends  and  neighbors,  saying  unto  them,  Re- 
joice with  me ;  for  I  have  found  my  sheep  which  was  lost. 
I  say  unto  you,  that  likewise  joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over 
one  sinner  that  repenteth,  more  than  over  ninety  and  nine 

15  just  persons  which  need  no  repentance. 

Either  what  woman  having  ten  pieces  of  silver,  if  she 
lose  one  piece,  doth  not  light  a  candle,  and  sweep  the 
house,  and  seek  diligently  till  she  find  it  ?  And  when  she 
hath  found  it,  she  calleth  her  friends  and  her  neighbors 

20  together,  saying,  Rejoice  with  me ;  for  I  have  found  the 
piece  which  I  had  lost.  Likewise,  I  say  unto  you.  There 
is  joy  in  the  presence  of  the  angels  of  God  over  one  sinner 
that  repenteth. 

And  he  said,  A  certain  man  had  two  sons :    and  the 

25  younger  of  them  said  to  his  father.  Father,  give  me  the 
portion  of  goods  that  falleth  to  me.  And  he  divided  unto 
them  his  living.  And  not  many  days  after,  the  younger 
son  gathered  all  together,  and  took  his  journey  into  a  far 
country,  and  there  wasted  his  substance  with  riotous  living. 

30  And  when  he  had  spent  all,  there  arose  a  mighty  famine 
in  that  land ;  and  he  began  to  be  in  want. 

And  he  went  and  joined  himself  to  a  citizen  of  that 
country ;  and  he  sent  him  into  his  fields  to  feed  swine. 
And  he  would  fain  have  filled  his  belly  with  the  husks 

35  that  the  swine  did  eat ;  and  no  man  gave  unto  him. 

And  when  he  came  to  himself,  he  said,  How  many  hired 
servants  of  my  father's  have  bread  enough  and  to  spare, 
and  I  perish  with  hunger !  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my 
father,  and  will  say  unto  him.   Father,   I   have    sinned 

40  against  heaven  and  before  thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy 


370  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xcrv. 

to  be  called  thy  son :  make  me  as  one  of  thy  hired  ser- 
vants. 

And  he  arose,  and  came  to  his  father.  But  when  he 
was  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him,  and  had  com- 
5  passion,  and  ran,  and  fell  on  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 
And  the  son  said  unto  him.  Father,  I  have  sinned  against 
heaven  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be 
called  thy  son. 

But  the  father  said  to  his  servants.  Bring  forth  the  best 

10  robe,  and  put  it  on  him ;  and  put  a  ring  on  his  hand,  and 
shoes  on  his  feet :  and  bring  hither  the  fatted  calf,  and  kill 
it ;  and  let  us  eat,  and  be  merry  :  for  this  my  son  was  dead, 
and  is  alive  again ;  he  was  lost,  and  is  found.  And  they 
began  to  be  merry. 

15  Now  his  elder  son  was  in  the  field  :  and  as  he  came  and 
drew  nigh  to  the  house,  he  heard  music  and  dancing.  And 
he  called  one  of  the  servants  and  asked  what  these  things 
meant.  And  he  said  unto  him.  Thy  brother  is  come ;  and 
thy  father  hath  killed  the  fatted  calf,  because  he  hath  re- 

20  ceived  him  safe  and  sound. 

And  he  was  angry,  and  would  not  go  in ;  therefore  came 
his  father  out,  and  entreated  him.  And  he  answering, 
said  to  his  father,  Lo,  these  many  years  do  I  serve  thee, 
neither  transgressed  I  at  any  time  thy  commandment ;  and 

25  yet  thou  never  gavest  me  a  kid,  that  I  might  make  merry 
with  my  friends :  but  as  soon  as  this  thy  son  wa^  come, 
which  hath  devoured  thy  living  with  harlots,  thou  hast 
killed  for  him  the  fatted  calf. 

And  he  said  unto  him,  Son,  thou  art  ever  with  me  ;  and 

30  all  that  I  have  is  thine.  It  was  meet  that  we  should  make 
merry,  and  be  glad  :  for  this  thy  brother  was  dead,  and  is 
alive  again ;  and  was  lost,  and  is  found. 


EXERCISE  XCIV. 

Go  where  Glory  waits  Thee. 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee, 
But  while  fame  elates  thee, 
35  Oh,  still  remember  me. 

When  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest, 
Oh,  then  remember  me. 


EX.  XCV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  37l 

Other  arms  may  press  thee, 

Dearer  friends  caress  thee,  — 

All  the  joys  that  bless  thee 

Sweeter  far  may  be ; 
5  But  when  friends  are  nearest, 

And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

Oh,  then  remember  me. 
When  at  eve  thou  rovest, 

By  the  star  thou  lovest, 
10  Oh,  then  remember  me. 

Think,  when  home  retumingf. 

Bright  we  Ve  seen  it  burning ; 

Oh,  thus  remember  me. 

Oft  as  summer  closes, 

16  When  thine  eye  reposes 

On  its  lingering  roses. 

Once  so  loved  by  thee. 

Think  of  her  who  wove  them, 

Her  who  made  thee  love  them ; 
20  Oh,  then  remember  me. 

When  around  thee,  dying. 

Autumn  leaves  are  lying, 

Oh,  then  remember  me. 

And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
25  On  the  gay  hearth  blazing. 

Oh,  still  remember  me. 

Then,  should  music,  stealing 

All  the  soul  of  feeling. 

To  thy  heart  appealing, 
30  Draw  one  tear  from  thee  ; 

Then  let  memory  bring  thee 

Strains  I  used  to  sing  thee ;  — 

Oh,  then  remember  me.  T.  Moore, 


EXERCISE  XCV. 

HamleVs  Advice  to  the  Players. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you ; 

35  trippingly,  on  the  tongue.     But  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many 

of  the  players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-crier  had  spoke 

my  lines.     And  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your 

hand ;  but  use  all  gently :  for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest, 


372  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xcvl 

and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must 
acquire  and  beget  a  temperance  that  may  give  it  smooth- 
ness. Oh  !  it  offends  me  to  the  soul,  to  hear  a  robusteous, 
periwig-pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags, 

5  to  split  the  ears  of  the  groundlings ;  who,  for  the  most  part, 
are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb  shows  and 
noise.     Pray,  you  avoid  it. 

Be  not  too  tame  neither :  but  let  your  own  discretion  be 
your  tutor.     Suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the 

10  action;  with  this  special  observance,  that  you  o'erstep  not 
the  modesty  of  nature  :  for  anything  so  overdone  is  from 
the  purpose  of  playing,  whose  end  is  —  to  hold,  as  it  were, 
the  mirror  up  to  nature ;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature, 
scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the 

15  time  his  form  and  pressure. 

Now,  this  overdone,  or  come  tardy  of,  though  it  makes 
the  unskilful  laugh,  cannot  but  make  the  judicious  grieve ; 
the  censure  of  one  of  which  must,  in  your  allowance,  o'er- 
weigh  a  whole  theatre  of  others.     Oh !  there  be  players 

20  that  I  have  seen  play,  and  heard  others  praise,  and  that 
highly,  that,  neither  having  the  accent  of  Christian,  nor 
the  gait  of  Christian,  pagan  nor  man,  have  so  strutted  and 
bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some  of  Nature's  journey- 
men had  made  men,  and  not  made  them  well ;  they  imi- 

25  tated  humanity  so  abominably.  —  Shakspeare. 


EXERCISE  XCVL 
Milton's  Lamentation  for  the  Loss  of  his  Sight. 

Hail,  holy  light !    offspring  of  heaven  first-born  ! 

Or,  of  the  eternal,  coetemal  beam  ! 

May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?     Since  God  is  light, 

And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 
30     Dwelt  from  eternity,  dwelt  then  in  thee. 

Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate. 

Or,  hear'st  thou,  rather,  pure  ethereal  stream, 

Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  ? 

Before  the  sun, 
35     Before  the  heavens,  thou  wert,  and  at  the  voice 

Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 

The  rising  world  of  waters  dark  and  deep. 

Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite. 


BX.  XCVI.]  RHETORICAL  READING.  373 

Thee  I  revisit  now  with  bolder  wing, 
Escaped  the  Stygian  pool,  though  long  detained 
In  that  obscure  sojourn ;  while  in  my  flight, 
Through  utter  and  through  middle  darkness  borne, 
5     With  other  notes  than  to  the  Orphean  lyre, 
I  sung  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night ; 
Taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse  to  venture  down 
The  dark  descent,  and  up  to  reiiscend. 
Though  hard  and  rare. 

10  Thee  I  revisit  safe, 

And  feel  thy  sovereign  vital  lamp ;  but  thou 
Revisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn ; 
So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quenched  their  orbs, 

15     Or  dim  suffusion  veiled. 

Yet  not  the  more 
Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  muses  haunt. 
Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill, 
Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song ;    but  chief 

20     Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 

That  wash  thy  hallowed  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 
Nightly  I  visit :    nor  sometimes  forget 
Those  other  two,  equalled  with  me  in  fate. 
So  were  I  equalled  with  them  in  renown ! 

"26     Blind  Thamaris,  and  blind  Mseonides  ; 

And  Tyresias,  and  Phyneus,  prophets  old:  — 
Then  feed  on  thoughts,  that  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers  ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 
Sings  darkling,  and,  in  shadiest  covert  hid, 

30     Tunes  her  nocturnal  note. 

Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return ;    but  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  mom, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 

35     Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine : 
But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark, 
Surrounds  me :    from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  off',  and,  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair. 
Presented  with  an  universal  blank 

40     Of  nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  razed. 
And  wisdom,  at  one  entrance,  quite  shut  out. 

So  much  the  rather,  thou,  celestial  light. 
Shine  inward,  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powers 
Irradiate ;    there  plant  eyes ;    all  mist  from  thence 
32 


374  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xcvn 

Purge  and  disperse ;   that  I  may  see  and  tell 

Of  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight.  Milton, 


EXERCISE  xcvn. 

Intellectual  Improvement. 

The  great  mass  of  mankind  consider  the  intellectual 
powers  as  susceptible  of  a  certain  degree  of  development 
6  in  childhood,  to  prepare  the  individual  for  the  active  duties 
of  life.  This  degree  of  progress  they  suppose  to  be  made 
before  the  age  of  twenty  is  attained,  and  hence  they  talk 
of  an  education  being  finished ! 

Now,  if  a  parent  wishes  to  convey  the  idea  that  his 

10  daughter  has  closed  her  studies  at  school,  or  that  his  son 
has  finished  his  preparatory  professional  course,  and  is 
ready  to  commence  practice,  there  is  perhaps  no  strong 
objection  to  his  using  of  the  common  phrase,  that  the 
education  is  finished ;  but  in  any  general  or  proper  use  of 

15  language,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  finished  education. 
The  most  successful  student  that  ever  left  a  school,  or  took 
his  degree  at  college,  never  arrived  at  a  good  place  to  stop, 
in  his  intellectual  course. 

In  fact,  the  further  he  goes  the  more  desirous  will  he  feel 

20  to  go  on ;  and  if  you  wish  to  find  an  instance  of  the  great- 
est eagerness  and  interest  with  which  the  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge is  prosecuted,  you  will  find  it  undoubtedly  in  the  case 
of  the  most  accomplished  and  thorough  scholar  that  the 
country  can  furnish,  one  who  has  spent  a  long  life  in  study, 

25  and  who  finds  that  the  further  he  goes  the  more  and  more 
widely  does  the  boundless  field  of  intelligence  open  before 
him. 

Give  up,  then,  at  once,  all  idea  of  finishing  your  educa- 
tion.    The  sole  object  of  the  course  of  discipline  at  any 

30  literary  institution,  in  our  land,  is  not  to  finish,  but  just  to 
show  you  how  to  begin ;  to  give  you  an  impulse  and  a 
direction  upon  that  course  which  you  ought  to  pursue  with 
unabated  and  uninterrupted  ardor  as  long  as  you  have 
being. 

35  It  is  unquestionably  true,  that  every  person,  whatever 
are  his  circumstances  or  condition  in  life,  ought  at  all  times 
to  be  making  some  steady  eflforts  to  enlarge  his  stock  of 
knowledge,  to  increase  his  mental  powers,  and  thus  to  ex- 


EX.  XCVn.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  375 

pand  the  field  of  his  intellectual  vision.  I  suppose  most 
of  my  readers  are  convinced  of  this,  and  are  desirous,  if 
the  way  can  only  be  distinctly  pointed  out,  of  making  such 
efforts. 
5  In  fact,  no  inquiry  is  more  frequently  made  by  intelligent 
young  persons  than  this  :  — "  What  course  of  reading  shall 
I  pursue  ?  What  books  shall  I  select,  and  what  plan  in 
reading  them  shall  I  adopt  ? "  These  inquiries  I  now  pro- 
pose to  answer.    The  objects  of  study  are  of  several  kinds ; 

10  some  of  the  most  important  I  shall  enumerate. 

To  increase  our  intellectual  powers.  —  Every  one  knows 
that  there  is  a  difference  of  ability  in  different  minds,  but 
it  is  not  so  distinctly  understood  that  every  one's  abilities 
may  be  increased  or  strengthened  by  a  kind  of  culture 

15  adapted  expressly  to  this  purpose ;  —  I  mean  a  culture 
which  is  intended  not  to  add  to  the  stock  of  knowledge, 
but  only  to  increase  intellectual  power. 

Suppose,  for  example,  that  when  Robinson  Crusoe  on 
his  desolate  island  had  first  found  Friday  the  savage,  he 

20  had  said  to  himself  as  follows  :  —  "  This  man  looks  wild 
and  barbarous  enough  ;  he  is  to  stay  with  me  and  help  me 
in  my  various  plans ;  but  he  could  help  me  much  more 
effectually  if  he  were  more  of  an  intellectual  being  and 
less  of  a  mere  animal.     Now  I  can  increase  his  intellectual 

25  power  by  culture,  and  1  will.    But  what  shall  I  teach  him  ?  " 

On  reflecting  a  little  further  upon  the  subject,  he  would 

say  to  himself  as  follows  :  —  "I  must  not  always  teach  him 

things  necessary  for  him  to  know  in  order  to  assist  me  in 

my  work,  but  I  must  try  to  teach  him  to  think  for  himself. 

30  Then  he  will  be  far  more  valuable  as  a  servant  than  if  he 
has  to  depend  upon  me  for  everything  he  does." 

Accordingly,  some  evening  when  the  two,  master  and 
man,  have  finished  the  labors  of  the  day,  Robinson  is 
walking  upon  the  sandy  beach,  with  the  wild  savage  by 

35  his  side,  and  he  concludes  to  give  him  his  first  lesson  in 
mathematics.  He  picks  up  a  slender  and  pointed  shell, 
and  with  it  draws  carefully  a  circle  upon  the  sand. 
"What  is  that? "  says  Friday.  "  It  is  what  we  call  a  cir- 
cle," says  Robinson.     "  I  want  you  now  to  come  and  stand 

40  here,  and  attentively  consider  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
about  it." 

Now  Friday  has,  we  will  suppose,  never  given  his  seri- 
ous attention  to  anything,  or  rather  he  has  never  made  a 
serious  mental  effort  upon  any  subject  for  five  minutes  at 


376  Parker's  exercises  in  ]^ex.  xcvii. 

a  tiute  in  his  life.  The  simplest  mathematical  principle  is 
a  complete  labyrinth  of  perplexity  to  him.  He  comes  up 
and  looks  at  the  smooth  and  beautiful  curve  which  his 
master  has  drawn  in  the  sand  with  a  gaze  of  stupid  amaze- 
5  ment. 

"  Now  listen  carefully  to  what  I  say,"  says  Robinson, 
"  and  see  if  you  can  understand  it.  Do  you  see  this  little 
point  I  make  in  the  middle  of  the  circle  ? "  Friday  says 
he  does,  and  wonders  what  is  to  come  from  the  magic 

10  character  which  he  sees  before  him.  "  This,"  continues 
Robinson,  "  is  a  circle,  and  that  point  is  the  centre.  Now, 
if  I  draw  lines  from  the  centre  in  any  direction  to  the  out- 
side, these  lines  will  all  be  equal." 

So  saying,  he  draws  several  lines.     He  sets  Friday  to 

15  measuring  them.  Friday  sees  that  they  are  equal,  and  is 
pleased  from  two  distinct  causes  ;  one,  that  he  has  success- 
fully exercised  his  thinking  powers,  and  the  other,  that  he 
has  learned  something  which  he  never  knew  before. 

I  wish  now  that  the  reader  would  understand  that  Rob- 

20  inson  does  not  take  this  course  with  Friday  because  he 
wishes  him  to  understand  the  nature  of  the  circle.  Sup- 
pose we  were  to  say  to  him,  "  Why  did  you  choose  such  a 
lesson  as  that  for  your  savage  ?  You  can  teach  him 
much  more  useful  things  than  the  properties  of  the  circle. 

25  What  good  will  it  do  him  to  know  how  to  make  circles  ? 
Do  you  expect  him  to  draw  geometrical  diagrams  for  you, 
or  to  calculate  and  project  eclipses  ?  " 

"No,"  Robinson  would  reply;  "I  do  not  care  to  make 
Friday  understand   the  properties  of  the  circle.      But  I 

30  would  have  him  to  be  a  thinking  being;  and  if  I  can  induce 
him  to  think  half  an  hour  steadily  and  carefully,  it  is  of  no 
consequence  upon  what  subject  his  thoughts  are  employed. 
I  chose  the  circle  because  that  seemed  easy  and  distinct  — 
suitable  for  the  first  lesson.     I  do  not  know  that  he  will 

35  ever  have  occasion  to  make  use  of  the  fact,  that  the  radii 
of  a  circle  are  equal,  as  long  as  he  shall  live  —  but  he  will 
have  occasion  for  the  power  of  patient  attention  and  thought, 
which  he  acquired  while  attempting  to  understand  that 
subject." 

40  This  would  unquestionably  be  sound  philosophy,  and  a 
savage  who  should  study  suah  a  lesson  on  the  beach  of  his 
own  wild  island  would  forever  after  be  less  of  a  savage 
than  before.  The  effect  upon  his  mental  powers  of  one 
single  effort  like  that  would  last;   and  a  series  of  such 


EX.  XCVni.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  377 

efforts  would  transform  him  from  a  fierce  and  ungovernable, 
but  stupid  animal,  to  a  cultivated  and  intellectual  man. 

Thus  it  is  with  all  education.  One  great  object  is  to 
increase  the  powers,  and  this  is  entirely  distinct  from  the 
5  acquisition  of  knowledge.  Scholars  very  often  ask,  when 
pursuing  some  difficult  study,  "  What  good  will  it  do  me 
to  know  this  ?  "  But  that  is  not  the  question.  They  ought 
to  ask,  "  What  good  will  it  do  me  to  learn  it  ?  What  effect 
upon  my  habits  of  thinking,  and  upon  my  intellectual  powers, 

10  will  be  produced  by  the  efforts  to  examine  and  to  conquer 
these  difficulties  ?  " 

A  very  fine  example  of  this  is  the  study  of  conic  sections, 
a  difficult  branch  of  the  course  of  mathematics  pursued  in 
college ;  a  study  which,  from  its  difficulty  and  its  apparent 

15  uselessness,  is  often  very  unpopular  in  the  class  pursuing 
it.  The  question  is  very  often  asked,  "  What  good  will  it 
ever  do  us  in  after-life  to  understand  all  these  mysteries  of 
the  parabola,  and  the  hyperbola,  and  the  ordinates,  and 
abscissas,  and  asymtotes  ?  " 

20  The  answer  is,  that  the  knowledge  of  the  facts  which 
you  acquire  will  probably  do  you  no  good  whatever.  That 
is  not  the  object,  and  every  college  officer  knows  full  well 
that  the  mathematical  principles  which  this  science  demon- 
strates are  not  brought  into  use  in  after-life  by  one  scholar 

25  in  ten.  But  every  college  officer,  and  every  intelligent 
student  who  will  watch  the  operations  of  his  own  mind 
and  the  influences  which  such  exercises  exert  upon  it, 
knows  equally  well  that  the  study  of  the  higher  mathe- 
matics produces  an  effect  in  enlarging  and  disciplining  the 

30  intellectual  powers,  which  the  whole  of  life  will  not  oblit- 
erate. 

Do  not  shrink,  then,  from  difficult  work  in  your  efforts  at 
intellectual  improvement.  You  ought,  if  you  wish  to  se- 
cure the  greatest  advantage,  to  have  some  difficult  work, 

35  that  you  may  acquire  habits  of  patient  research,  and  in- 
crease and  strengthen  your  intellectual  powers. — J.  Abbott. 


EXERCISE  XCVm. 

The  World  compared  to  a  Stage. 

All  the  world  's  a  stage ; 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players. 
32* 


378  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  xcix- 

They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances ; 

And  one  man,  in  his  time,  plays  many  parts, 

His  acts  being  seven  ages. 

At  first,  the  infant; 
5     Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms. 

And  then  the  whining  school-boy ;  with  his  satchel 

And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail, 

Unwillingly,  to  school.     And  then,  the  lover; 

Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
10     Made  to  his  mistress'  eye-brow.     Then,  a  soldier ; 

Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard ; 

Jealous  in  honor ;  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel ; 

Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth. 
15  And  then,  the  justice; 

With  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined ; 

With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut ; 

Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances ; 

And  so  he  plays  his  part. 
20  The  sixth  age  shifts 

Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon ; 

With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side ; 

His  youthful  hose,  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide 

For  his  shrunk  shank  ;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
25     Turning  again  towards  childish  treble,  pipes 

And  whistles  in  his  sound. 

Last  scene  of  all, 

That  ends  this  strange,  eventful  history, 

Is  second  childishness  and  mere  oblivion ; 
30     Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything. 

Shakspeare. 


EXERCISE  XCIX. 

Woman. 

The  first  and  necessary  relation  of  woman  is  that  of 
daughter.  From  this  relation  numerous  duties  arise,  for 
the  performance  of  which  every  woman  should  be  edu- 
cated. A  daughter  is  the  natural  companion,  friend  and 
35  stay,  of  her  parents.  A  man  leaves  his  father  and  mother, 
and  marries  into  the  family  of  his  wife.  But  hi  our  own 
and  other  free  countries,  a  woman,  whether  single  or  mar- 
ried, more  frequently  remains  with  her  earliest  affections 
in  or  near  the  mansion  of  her  parents. 


EX.  XCIX.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  379 

It  is  to  her  that  they  naturally  look  for  the  tender  affec- 
tions which  will  soothe  them  in  their  declining  years.  It 
is  for  her  to  temper  the  rough  winds  of  adversity,  and  ren- 
der brighter  the  sunshine  of  prosperity.  She  is  their  com- 
5  forter,  physician,  and  nurse.  When  their  voice  has  become 
tremulous,  and  their  eye  dim  with  age,  and  the  stores  of 
memory  have  been  closed,  it  is  for  her  to  bring  forth  the 
pleasures  of  consolation,  to  make  the  sound  of  gladness 
still  be  heard  in  their  dwelling,  and  to  fill  it  with  a  cheer- 

10  ful,  and  —  if  she  have  been  rightly  educated  —  a  holy 
light. 

I  need  not  speak  particularly  of  the  relation  of  the  sister : 
not  that  I  undervalue  the  importance  of  her  duties  ;  but 
because  I  believe  that  the  woman  who  is  well  educated  for 

15  the  more  important  ones  of  daughter  and  wife  cannot  fail 
to  be  a  faithful  sister  and  friend.    We  have  merely  time  to 
glance  at  the  numerous  duties  of  the  mistress  of  a  family. 
Enter  the  humblest  dwelling  under  the  prudent  manage- 
ment of  a  discreet  and  well-educated  female,  and  observe 

20  the  simplicity  and  good  taste  which  pervade  it.  The  wise 
mistress  has  nothing  gaudy  in  her  dress  or  furniture ;  for 
she  is  above  the  silly  ambition  of  surpassing  her  neighbors 
in  show.  Her  own  best  ornaments  are  cheerfulness  and 
contentment ;  and  those  of  her  house  are  neatness,  good 

25  order  and  cleanliness,  which  make  a  plain  house  and  mod- 
est apartments  seem  better  than  they  are. 

She  has  not  the  selfish  vanity  which  would  make  her 
strive  to  appear  above  her  circumstances.  She  knows 
what  are,  and  what  ought  to  be,  the  expenses  of  her  fam- 

30  ily ;  and  she  is  not  ashamed  of  her  economy.  It  gives  her 
the  means  of  being  liberal  in  her  charity  ;  and  hers  is  a 
charity  which  reaches  round  the  earth,  and  embraces  the 
poor  and  unfortunate  everywhere. 

Her  domestics,  if  she  have  any,  look  to  her  for  advice 

35  in  doubt,  and  counsel  in  difficulties  ;  they  respect  her  judg- 
ment, for  she  has  shown  herself  wise  and  disinterested  ; 
they  see  that  she  cares  for  them,  and  they  have  felt  her 
sympathy  in  their  sorrows  :  in  return,  they  make  her  inter- 
est their  own,  anticipate  her  wishes,  and  show  the  willing- 

40  ness  of  their  service  by  their  cheerful  alacrity. 

She  knows  the  virtue  of  pure  air,  and  the  excellence  of 
scrupulous  cleanliness  ;  she  can  judge  of  the  qualities  of 
wholesome  food,  and  knows  how  easily  it  may  be  poisoned 
by  careless  or  unskilful  cooking.    Her  knowledge  and  care 


380  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  c. 

shine  in  the  happy  and  healthful  faces  of  her  children.  No 
harsh  sounds  are  heard  in  her  dwelling ;  for  her  gentleness 
communicates  itself  to  all  around  her. 

Her  husband  hastens  home ;  and  whatever  may  have 
5  been  his  fortune  abroad,  enters  his  house  with  a  cheerful 
step.  He  has  experienced  the  pleasure  of  seeing  kind 
faces  brightening  at  his  approach  ;  and,  contented  with 
what  he  finds  at  home,  has  no  inducement  to  seek  for 
happiness  abroad.  Nor  is  she  satisfied  with  consulting 
10  the  present  gratification  of  those  around  her.  By  her  ex- 
ample and  gentle  influence,  she  leads  them  onward  to  what 
is  better  and  more  enduring  hereafter.  Few  know  the 
noiseless  and  real  happiness  which  such  a  woman  sheds 
around  her,  as  if  she  were  the  sun  of  a  little  world. 

George  B.  Emerson. 


EXERCISE  C. 
^^  Passing  Away" 

15         Was  it  the  chime  of  a  tiny  bell. 

That  came  sa  sweet  to  my  dreaming  ear, — 
Like  the  silvery  tones  of  a  fairy's  shell, 
That  he  winds  on  the  beach  so  mellow  and  clear, 
When  the  winds  and  the  waves  lie  together  asleep, 

20     And  the  moon  and  the  fairy  are  watching  the  deep, 
She  dispensing  her  silvery  light. 
And  he,  his  notes  as  silvery  quite. 
While  the  boatman  listens  and  ships  his  oar, 
To  catch  the  music  that  comes  from  the  shore  ?  — 

25     Hark  !  the  notes  on  my  ear  that  play 

Are  set  to  words  ;  —  as  they  float  they  say, 
"  Passing  away  !  passing  away  !  " 

Bat  no  !  it  was  not  a  fairy's  shell 
Blown  on  the  beach  so  merry  and  clear ; 

30     Nor  was  it  the  tongue  of  a  silver  bell, 
Striking  the  hour,  that  filled  my  ear, 
As  I  lay  in  my  dream  ;  yet  was  it  a  chime 
That  told  of  the  flow  of  the  stream  of  time. 
For  a  beautiful  clock  from  the  ceiling  hung, 

35     And  a  plump  little  girl  for  a  pendulum  swung ; 
(As  you  've  sometimes  seen,  in  a  little  ring 
That  hangs  in  his  cage,  a  canary-bird  swing ;) 


EX.  C]  RHETORICAL    READING.  381 

And  she  held  to  her  bosom  a  budding  bouquet, 
And  as  she  enjoyed  it,  she  seemed  to  say, 
"  Passing  away  !  passing  away  !  " 

O,  how  bright  were  the  wheels,  that  told 
5     Of  the  lapse  of  time,  as  they  moved  round  slow ! 
And  the  hands,  as  they  swept  o'er  the  dial  of  gold. 
Seemed  to  point  to  the  girl  below. 
And  lo  !  she  had  changed  ;  —  in  a  few  short  hours 
Her  bouquet  had  become  a  garland  of  flowers, 

10     That  she  held  in  her  outstretched  hands,  and  flung 
This  way  and  that,  as  she  dancing  swung 
In  the  fulness  and  grace  of  womanly  pride, 
That  told  me  she  soon  was  to  be  a  bride  :  — 
Yet  then,  when  expecting  her  happiest  day, 

15     In  the  same  sweet  voice  I  heard  her  say, 
"  Passing  away  !  passing  away !  " 

While  I  gazed  at  that  fair  one's  cheek,  a  shade 
Of  thought,  or  care,  stole  softly  over, 
Like  thafby  a  cloud  in  a  summer  day  made, 

20     Looking  down  on  a  field  of  blossoming  clover. 
The  rose  yet  lay  on  her  cheek,  but  its  flush 
Had  something  lost  of  its  brilliant  blush ; 
And  the  light  in  her  eye,  and  the  light  on  the  wheels, 
That  marched  so  calmly  round  above  her, 

25     Was  a  little  dimmed,  —  as  when  evening  steals 

Upon  noon's  hot  face  :  —  yet  one  could  n't  but  love  her, 
For  she  looked  like  a  mother,  whose  first  babe  lay, 
Rocked  on  her  breast,  as  she  swung  all  day  ;  — 
And  she  seemed,  in  the  same  silver  tone,  to  say, 

30     "  Passing  away  !  passing  away !  " 

While  yet  I  looked,  what  a  change  there  came ! 
Her  eye  was  quenched,  and  her  cheek  was  wan  : 
Stooping  and  staffed  was  her  withered  frame. 
Yet  just  as  busily  swung  she  on  ; 

35     The  garland  beneath  her  had  fallen  to  dust ; 
The  wheels  above  her  were  eaten  with  rust ; 
The  hands,  that  over  the  dial  swept, 
Grew  crooked  and  tarnished,  but  on  they  kept. 
And  still  there  came  that  silver  tone 

40     From  the  shrivelled  lips  of  the  toothless  crone,  — 
(Let  me  never  forget  till  my  dying  day 
The  tone  or  the  burden  of  her  lay !) 
"  Passing  away .'  passing  away  I  "  Pierpont, 


382  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  ci. 


EXERCISE  CI. 

Association  of  Ideas. 

It  is  the  law  or  usage  of  the  human  mind  long  to  retain 
any  connexion,  even  of  the  most  accidental  kind,  which 
has  once  been  formed  between  two  or  more  thoughts  or 
states  of  feeling.  If  one  of  these  linked  or  associated 
5  ideas  is  brought  back  to  the  mind,  the  other,  most  often, 
returns  with  it.  No  one  can  need  instances  of  this  sort 
to  be  mentioned,  for  every  moment  presents  them  to  every 
mind. 

It  is,  however,  important  to  distinguish  what  may  be 

10  called  the  natural  or  spontaneous  association  of  ideas, 
from  that  which  is  the  consequence  of  certain  habits  of 
the  mind.  The  law  of  spontaneous  association  shows 
itself  most  completely  in  dreaming,  when  ideas  of  all 
kinds  follow  one  the  other,  in  a  disorderly  and  fantastic 

15  manner ;  and  yet  so  that  we  can  (when  dreatns  are  recol- 
lected with  sufficient  distinctness)  often  perceive  the  link 
or  tie  which  made  one  image  succeed  to  another. 

In  musing  or  revery  the  same  law  of  accidental  con- 
nexion makes  itself  apparent  in  the  succession  of  ideas  and 

20  emotions.  The  prattle  of  children,  and  the  idle  chat  of 
uncultivated  or  frivolous  persons,  very  commonly  present 
the  same  sort  of  fortuitous  succession  of  ideas,  connected 
only  by  incidental  and  unimportant  circumstances  of  sim- 
ilarity or  of  juxtaposition,  in  time  or  place.     The  strength 

25  and  culture  of  the  mind  may  be  fairly  estimated  by  the 
degree  in  which  it  ordinarily  yields  itself  to  this  current 
of  spontaneous  or  accidental  associations. 

When  certain  habits  of  mind  have  been  formed  and 
settled  by  exercise  and  application,  they  displace  and  su- 

30  persede,  to  a  great  extent,  the  law  of  accidental  associa 
tion.  A  mind  naturally  vigorous,  and  which  has  acquired 
much  control  over  its  movements,  and  has  addicted  itself 
to  particular  employments,  no  longer  follows  the  fortuitous 
course  of  ideas;  but  pursues,  in  some  chosen  path,  the 

35  real  or  rational  connexion  of  ideas  one  with  another. 
That  is  to  say,  the  idea  which  follows  the  one  last  present 
to  the  mind  will  be  that  which,  in  fact  and  nature,  is  the 
most  nearly  related  to  its  predecessor. 

Thus,  if  the  whole  series  of  ideas  were  expressed  or 

40  uttered,  those  who  listened  to  it  would  not  have  to  search 


EX.  CI.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  383 

for  the  link  which  connected  one  thought  vviih  another, 
but  would  perceive  it  in  the  very  nature  of  the  subject. 

The  mathematician,  the  mechanician,  the  statesman, 
the  poet,  the  artist,  the  man  of  business,  each  acquires  his 
5  proper  habit  of  association,  and  each  is  prompt  and  suc- 
cessful in  his  line  just  in  proportion  to  the  rationality  and 
the  closeness  of  the  connexions  that  have  been  formed  in 
his  mind.  This  principle  of  the  association  of  ideas  is 
sometimes,  or  by  some  writers,  called  the  law  of  sugges- 
10  tion.     The  meaning  of  the  two  phrases  is  much  the  same. 

ATTENTION. 

Not  even  the  most  frivolous,  childish,  or  feeble  mind,  is 
always  or  entirely  governed  by  the  fortuitous  association 
of  ideas  (spoken  of  in  the  preceding  article.)  Nor  how 
strong  soever  may  be  any  particular  habit  of  thinking,  is 

15  any  mind  absolutely  incapable  of  breaking  off  its  custom- 
ary meditations,  and  of  fixing  itself  upon  another  set  of 
ideas.  Every  one  is  conscious  of  possessing  a  power 
(more  or  less  perfect)  of  detaining  some  one  thought  or 
class  of  thoughts  in  the  mind,  and  of  considering  or  view- 

20  ing  a  particular  subject  successively,  in  all  its  parts  and 
relations.     This  power  is  called  attention. 

It  is  the  proper  and  distinguishing  excellence  of  the 
human  mind ;  and,  in  connexion  with  the  faculty  of  ab- 
straction, forms  the  essential  difference  between  man  and 

25  the  brute,  as  well  intellectually  as  morally.  The  degree 
in  which  it  is  possessed  distinguishes  also  one  human 
mind  from  another. 

The  exertion  of  this  power  of  attention  supposes  some 
motive  or  desire  to  be  present,  or  some  inducement  to  be 

30  within  view,  which  attracts  the  mind  in  one  direction 
rather  than  another.  It  is  a  great  excellence  in  the  men- 
tal conformation,  when  a  tranquil  motive  will  insure  a 
high  degree  of  attention ;  and  moreover,  when  attention 
can  be  readily  and  fully  transferred  from  one  object  to 

35  another ;  and  it  is  a  still  higher  excellence  when  attention 
can  be  given,  in  an  efficient  degree,  to  several  objects  at 
the  same  time. 

A  sluggish  mind  is  one  which  can  be  roused  to  atten- 
tion only  by  the  most  urgent  or  stimulating  motives.     A 

40  weak  mind  is  one  that  may  be  quickly  roused  to  attention, 
but  which  as  quickly  spends  itself  by  the  effort.  An  acute 
mind  is  one  that  is  capable  of  a  very  vigorous,  momentary 


384  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  ci. 

effort.  A  profound  mind  is  one  capable  of  long-continued 
attention  upon  the  same  subject,  and  which  can  sustain 
its  attention  by  motives  of  the  most  tranquil  sort. 

A  comprehensive  and  efficient  mind  is  capable  both  of 

5  long-continued  efforts  of  attention,  and  of  virhat  may  be 

called  multifarious  attention ;  that  is  to  say,  it  does  not  lose 

itself  in  its  regard  to  a  single  class  of  ideas,  but  sees  all 

objects  in  their  various  connexions  and  dependencies. 

Yet  whatever  may  be  the  natural  power  of  the  mind  in 

10  these  respects,  it  is  susceptible  of  vast  increase  and  im- 
provement, by  a  well-conducted  education.  Indeed  the 
difference  between  an  educated  and  uneducated  person 
(supposing  their  natural  faculties  to  have  been  equal)  is 
manifested  in  nothing  so  conspicuously  as  in  the  greater 

15  command  over  its  powers  of  attention  which  the  former 
has  acquired. 

ABSTRACTION. 

[From  Abstraho,  to  draw  off,  or  to  draw  apart,  or  to  separate  and  take  away  one 
thing  from  among  a  number.] 

Things  that  differ  very  greatly  one  from  another  are 
often  found  to  be  alike  in  some  single  quality ;  and  when 
this  one  quality  is  distinctly  taken  notice  of,  we  readily 

20  learn  to  think  of  it  apart  from  the  other  qualities  with 
which  it  may  have  been  joined,  and  thus  the  mind  acquires 
the  habit  of  drawing  off  certain  properties  of  things,  and 
of  giving  names  to  them ;  this  habit  is  called  abstraction, 
and  the  words  employed  on  such  occasions  are  called  ab- 

25  stract  terms. 

There  are,  for  instance,  placed  before  us,  a  cricket-ball, 
a  marble,  a  glass  bubble,  an  apple,  and  an  orange ;  and 
we  are  asked  if  these  things  are  alike.  We  answer.  No : 
for  the  first  is  brown,  and  may  be  indented ;  the  second  is 

30  heavy  and  impenetrable ;  the  third  is  transparent  and  frag- 
ile, and  light ;  the  fourth  is  green  and  pulpy ;  the  fifth  is 
yellow  and  fragrant. 

But  is  there,  then,  no  respect  wherein  they  are  alike  ? 
Yes;  they  are  alike  in  shape,  or  form  —  they  are  round. 

35  Roundness,  then,  is  the  quality  or  circumstance  in  which 
these  five  objects  agree,  and  which  may  be  thought  of,  and 
spoken  of,  apart  from  the  weight,  hardness,  color  or  smell, 
of  these  five  things.  Thus  we  have  obtained  two  abstract 
ideas — namely,  that  of  form  or  figure,  and  that  of  round- 

40  ness ;  roundness  being  a  particular  sort  of  form. 

Examples  of  this  kind  are  easily  multiplied ;  we  will 


EX.  CI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  385 

take  another.  Water,  and  glass,  and  spirits,  and  diamonds, 
admit  the  rays  of  light  to  pass  through  them ;  so  that  ob- 
jects may  be  discerned  almost  as  clearly  when  they  inter- 
vene as  when  they  are  removed.  Some  other  bodies 
5  possess  the  same  quality  in  a  less  degree  :  such  as  amber, 
and  the  amethyst,  and  the  ruby,  &c.  We  want  a  name 
for  this  property,  belonging  as  it  does  to  things  so  different 
as  water,  glass,  and  stones ;  and  we  call  it  transparency. 
Each  of  the  five  senses  has  its  class  of  abstractions  : 

10  that  is  to  say,  each  sense  separates  single  qualities  from 
other  qualities,  discerned  by  itself,  or  by  other  senses. 
The  eye  separates  redness  from  yellowness,  or  whiteness, 
&c.,  and  brightness  from  dulness  ;  —  and  again,  separates 
color  from  figure  ;    and  it  separates  color  and  figure  from 

15  the  notions  obtained  by  the  other  senses,  such  as  hardness, 
or  weight,  or  fragrancy,  or  fluidity.  The  sense  of  taste 
not  only  distinguishes  sour  from  sweet  and  bitter,  but  sep- 
arates them  from  the  qualities  that  are  made  known  to  the 
mind  by  the  sense  of  touch,  as  heat  and  cold,  asperity  and 

20  softness,  &c. 

Thus  it  is  that  likeness,  or  sameness  of  quality,  in  things 
otherwise  unlike,  leads  the  mind  to  form  abstract  notions, 
and  to  use  abstract  words.  But  having  acquired  this  habit, 
it  employs  the  power  of  separation  in  many  other  instances 

25  than  those  that  belong  to  the  five  senses.  For  example  :  — 
If  a  man  restores  freely  the  property  of  another,  which  he 
could  not  have  been  compelled  to  relinquish ;  or  if  he 
speaks  the  exact  truth  when  it  might  have  been  advan- 
tageous to  him  to  utter  a  falsehood  ;    or  if  in  any  way  he 

30  regards  the  welfare  of  other  men,  when  he  is  tempted  to 
secure  his  own  benefit,  —  we  form  a  notion  which  we  sep- 
arate from  the  particular  circumstances  that  may  have 
belonged  to  the  man's  conduct :  we  feel  that  there  is  a 
peculiar  quality  that  belongs  to  his  conduct  on  all  these 

35  several  occasions,  and  we  call  it  integrity  ;  and  the  so  act- 
ing is  justice. 

Justice  is  not  the  name  of  one  action,  or  of  one  kind  of 
an  action ;  but  of  the  abstract  notion  which  belongs  to  any 
action  wherein  a  man  pays  strict  regard  to  the  rights  and 

40  property  of  others.  Or  if,  in  his  actions,  he  goes  beyond 
what  might  have  been  demanded  of  him  ;  if  he  prefers  the 
welfare  of  his  neighbor  to  his  own ;  then  we  form  the  no- 
tion of  another  sort  of  quality,  and  call  it  generosity  or 
kindness.  And  in  any  new  instance,  even  if  all  the  cir- 
33 


386  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  ci. 

cumstances  are  different,  yet  if  a  friend  or  stranger  confers 
upon  us  a  benefit  which  he  might  properly  have  withheld, 
we  are  reminded  of  the  notion  we  had  before  formed,  and 
call  the  action  or  the  person  generous. 

5  Some  abstract  notions  are  simple ;  that  is  to  say,  they 
cannot  be  described  or  made  known  otherwise  than  by 
single  words,  or  by  pointing  to  the  objects  in  which  they 
are  to  be  seen  or  felt.  Such  are  redness,  whiteness,  heat, 
cold,  sweetness,  pleasure,  pain,  and  many  others.     If.  the 

10  person  to  whom  we  would  convey  our  meaning  has  never 
himself  perceived  the  quality  we  are  speaking  of,  we  can- 
not impart  to  him  our  idea  by  words ;  or,  if  he  does  not 
understand  the  word  we  first  use,  we  must  find  some  other 
of  the  same  meaning  —  if  he  does  not  know  what  the 

15  word  pain  means,  we  must  try  the  word  dolor,  or  some 
other;  but  if  he  have  never  felt  pain,  the  most  ingenious 
description  of  it  would  be  utterly  useless. 

But  there  are  abstract  notions  that  are  complex,  or  made 
up  of  two  or  more  ideas,  and  may  therefore  be  described 

20  by  mentioning  those  constituent  ideas.     Thus,  in  the  in- 
stances already  mentioned,  justice  may  be  described  as  the 
paying  a  strict  regard  to  the  rights  and  interests  of  others ; 
or,  the  not  preferring  our  own  welfare  to  that  of  others. 
Generosity  is  the  conferring  of  benefits  upon  others  be- 

25  yond  what  they  would  claim.  Form  or  figure  is  the  rela- 
tion to  each  other  of  the  several  surfaces  of  a  solid  body. 
Distance  is  extension  between  two  points,  divided  into 
parts,  and  numbered.  Place  is  the  relation  between  one 
point  and  some  other  points  on  a  surface.     Perfection  is 

30  the  existence,  together,  of  all  the  parts  or  properties  that 
are  assigned  to  some  complex  body  or  being. 

Design  is  the  relation  of  all  the  parts  of  a  complex  body 
to  the  last  effect  which  it  is  intended  to  produce.  Truth 
is  the  relation  of  sameness  between  things  and  our  notions 

35  of  them ;  or  between  our  notions  or  thoughts  and  our 
affirmations.  Liberty  is  the  absence  of  restraint  upon 
choice  or  action.  Necessity  is  the  certain  connexion  be- 
tween cause  and  effect.  In  all  such  instances  there  is  a 
notion  conveyed  by  the  word  we  employ  which  admits  of 

40  being  resolved  into  two  or  more  ideas. 

Now  it  is  peculiarly  important  to  understand  the  differ- 
ence between  simple  and  complex  abstract  notions ;  because, 
on  the  one  hand,  much  time  is  often  wasted  in  the  vain 
attempt  to  describe  or  analyze  what  is  simple ;  and,  on  the 


EX.  CI.]  RHETORICAL    RKADING.  387 

Other  hand,  much  confusion  often  arises  from  neglecting  to 
analyze  notions  that  are  complex  :  hence  it  is  that  so  many- 
words  are  used  in  argument  to  which  the  disputants  attach 
different  ideas,  and  therefore  are  never  able  to  come  to  an 
5  agreement,  even  when  they  are  really  of  the  same  opinion. 
It  is  a  good  exercise  to  define  or  analyze  complex  abstract 
notions. 

The  faculty  of  abstraction,  conjoined  with  the  use  of 
language,  is  that  chiefly  which  distinguishes  human  nature, 

10  and  raises  man  far  above  all  other  animals. 

After  having  thought  of  certain  qualities  apart  from  the 
things  in  which  they  are  found,  the  human  mind  takes 
another  step,  and  proceeds  to  bring  together  such  qualities 
and  compose    them  in   new  forms:  —  this   is  invention. 

15  The  same  faculty  enables  man  to  think  of  the  quality,  or 
goodness  or  badness  of  actions,  and  is  therefore  essential 
to  accountableness,  and  forms  the  basis  of  our  moral 
nature. 

Those   differences  of  intellectual   character   and  taste 

20  which  distinguish  mankind  individually  depend  very  much 
upon  the  faculty  of  abstraction.  One  man  possesses 
eminently  the  power  of  separating  color  from  form ;  and 
he  becomes  a  painter :  another,  in  connection  with  sensi- 
bility and  delicacy  of  taste,  readily  separates  or  draws  off 

25  those  qualities  of  things  which  excite  the  imagination  ;  and 
he  becomes  a  poet:  another  discerns  and  separates  the 
mechanical  properties  of  matter;  and  he  is  an  inventor  of 
machines  :  another  discriminates  mathematical  properties; 
and  he  addicts  himself  to  abstract  science. 

30  Each  department  of  science,  and  each  walk  of  active 
life,  has  its  peculiar  kind  of  abstraction  ;  nor  can  a  man  be 
very  successful  in  any  line,  if  nature  has  denied  him  the 
special  faculty  which  is  demanded  in  that  line. 

What  is  called  a  natural  taste  for  particular  pursuits  is 

35  most  commonly  a  peculiar  power  of  considering  some  one 
class  of  qualities  apart  from  all  other  qualities  or  circum- 
stances. It  is  well  when  the  choice  of  a  profession  is 
made  in  conformity  with  the  original  conformation  of  the 
mind. — Taylor^ s  Elemerits  of  Thought. 


388  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cm. 

EXERCISE  Cn. 
The  Light-House. 

The  scene  was  more  beautiful  far  to  my  eye 

Than  if  day  in  its  pride  had  arrayed  it ; 

The  land-breeze  blew  mild,  and  the  azure-arched  sky 

Looked  pure  as  the  Spirit  that  made  it ; 
5  The  murmur  rose  soft  as  I  silently  gazed 

In  the  shadowy  waves'  playful  motion, 

From  the  dim  distant  hill,  'till  the  light-house  fire  blazed 

Like  a  star  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean. 

No  longer  the  joy  of  the  sailor-boy's  breast 
10  Was  heard  in  his  wildly-breathed  numbers ; 

The  sea-bird  had  flown  to  her  wave-girdled  nest, 

The  fisherman  sunk  to  his  slumbers : 

One  moment  I  looked  from  the  hill's  gentle  slope, 

All  hushed  was  the  billows'  commotion, 
15  And  thought  that  the  light-house  looked  lovely  as  hope 

That  star  of  life's  tremulous  ocean. 

The  time  is  long  past,  and  the  scene  is  afar, 

Yet  when  my  head  rests  on  its  pillow. 

Will  memory  sometimes  rekindle  the  star 
20  That  blazed  on  the  breast  of  the  billow : 

In  life's  closing  hour,  when  the  trembling  soul  flies. 

And  death  stills  the  heart's  last  emotion ; 

O  !  then  may  the  seraph  of  mercy  arise, 

Like  a  star  on  eternity's  ocean.  T.  Moore, 


EXERCISE  cm. 
AqiLeous  Agencies. 

25  Aqueous  agents,  or  those  arising  from  the  power  and 
force  of  water,  are  perhaps  not  so  universal  nor  so  complex 
in  their  operations  as  atmospheric;  but  they  are  more 
powerful,  and  consequently  exert  a  more  obvious  influence 
in  modifying  the  crust  of  the  globe.     Their  mode  of  action 

30  is  either  mechanical  or  chemical; — mechanical,  as  when  a 

river  wears  away  its  banks,  and  carries  the  material  to 

the  sea ;    and  chemical,  when  from  gaseous  admixture 

water  is  enabled  to  dissolve  certain  rocks  and  metals. 

The  action  of  water  is  sometimes  slow  and  gradual,  as 

35  in  the  wearing  down  of  rocks  by  rain  ;  or  rapid  and  violent, 


EX.  cm.]  RHETORICAL    READING.  389 

as  in  the  case  of  river-floods  and  sea-storms.  The  effects 
of  rain  upon  a  cliff' may  not  amount  to  one  inch  in  a  hun- 
dred years,  while  hundreds  of  acres  of  alluvial  land  may 
be  swept  to  the  ocean  by  one  river-flood. 
5  Water  operates  variously  :  —  sometimes  by  itself,  as  in 
rivers;  sometimes  in  union  with  the  atmosphere, as  during 
land  and  sea  storms.  Its  power  as  a  geological  agent  is  most 
obvious  in  the  case  of  rains,  springs,  rivers,  lakes,  waves, 
currents  and  tides ;  and  the  results  of  these  agents  are  dis- 

10  tinguished  as  meteoric,  fluviatile,  lacustrine,  or  oceanic. 

Rain,  hail,  snow,  and  all  atmospheric  vapors,  exercise  a 

degrading  influence  on  the  earth's  surface.     By  entering 

the  pores  and  fissures  of  rocks,  they  soften  and  gradually 

dissolve  their  surface,  and  thus  materially  assist  the  opera- 

15  tions  of  frosts,  winds,  &c.  Rain,  accompanied  by  high 
winds,  acts  with  greater  force ;  snow,  from  accumulating 
during  frost,  and  suddenly  dissolving  during  fresh  weather, 
sometimes  occasions  violent  floods  and  inundations.  Floods 
arising  from  the  melting  of  snow  are  generally  very  de- 

20  structive,  for,  during  the  season  when  they  occur,  the  sur- 
face is  soft  and  loose,  and  much  more  liable  to  be  carried 
away. 

Rain  and  other  vapors  are  indispensable  to  the  growth 
of  vegetables,   and,  when    accompanied   with    sufficient 

25  warmth,  a  luxuriant  and  gigantic  vegetation,  like  that  of 
the  tropics,  is  the  result.  The  amount  of  rain  which  falls 
on  the  earth's  surface  is  exceedingly  varied,  ranging  from 
twenty  or  thirty  inches  to  several  feet  per  annum.  In 
tropical  regions,  rains  are  periodical ;  that  is,  fall  for  weeks 

30  together  at  certain  seasons.  This  gives  rise  to  inunda- 
tions ;  hence  the  peculiar  phenomena  attending  the  flood- 
ings  of  such  rivers  as  the  Nile,  Ganges,  &c. 

Of  the  quantity  of  rain  which  fell  during  past  periods 
of  the  world  we  have  no  positive  knowledge  ;  but  if  we  are 

35  able  to  discover  evidence  of  a  higher  temperature,  we  are 
warranted  in  concluding  that  the  quantity  of  rain  was 
much  greater. 

A  greater  fall  of  rain  would  produce  larger  rivers,  and 
larger  rivers  would  carry  down  a  greater  quantity  of  silt 

40  and  debris ;  this  would  form  more  extensive  plains  and 
deltas;  and  these,  again,  would  sustain  a  more  gigantic 
race  of  plants  and  animals.  From  this  example,  the  stu- 
dent will  readily  perceive  the  connexion  and  influence  of 
these  allied  causes.  Rain-water  generally  contains  car- 
33* 


390  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cm. 

bonic  acid,  ammonia,  and  other  substances;  and  conse- 
quently acts  chemically  as  well  as  mechanically. 

Springs  are  discharges  of  water  from  the  crust  of  the 
earth,  either  by  rents,  fissures,  or  other  openings  in  the 
5  surface.  The  water  which  falls  in  rain,  snow,  &c.,  partly 
runs  off,  and  partly  sinks  into  the  crust,  where  it  collects 
in  vast  quantities,  and  ultimately  finds  its  way  again  to 
the  surface  by  springs. 

Springs  issuing  from  strata  at  great  depths  are  said  to 

10  be  deep-seated;  those  from  clay  or  gravel  are  shallow. 
Some  only  flow  during,  or  shortly  after,  rains,  and  are  said 
to  be  temporary ;  some  flow  always,  and  are  perennial ; 
while  others  flow  and  ebb,  and  are  said  to  be  intermit- 
tent. 

15  The  characters  in  which  geologists  have  principally  to 
consider  springs  are  cold,  thermal,  and  mineral.  Cold 
springs  have  a  mechanical  action  when  they  cut  out  chan- 
nels for  themselves ;  and  they  act  chemically  when,  for 
example,  they  contain  carbonic  acid,  and  dissolve  portions 

20  of  the  rocks  through  which  they  pass. 

All  petrifying  springs  —  that  is,  such  as  convert  wood 
and  bones  into  stony  matter  —  act  chemically.  Thermal 
or  hot  springs  occur  in  numerous  parts  of  the  world,  (Eng- 
land, Iceland,  Germany,    Switzerland,    Italy,  Hindostan, 

25  &c.,)  and  also  act  mechanically  and  chemically,  but  with 
much  greater  chemical  force  than  cold  springs.  Mineral 
springs  may  be  either  cold  or  hot,  and  take  their  name 
from  the  circumstance  of  their  waters  holding  some  mineral 
or  earthy  substance  in  solution. 

30  Mineral  springs,  geologically  speaking,  are  by  far  the 
most  important,  as,  from  their  composition,  they  indicate 
the  kind  of  rocks  through  which  they  pass,  while  they 
more  or  less  influence  all  deposits  or  waters  into  which 
they  flow.     Thus,  some  contain  iron,  and  are  said  to  be 

35  ferruginous,  or  chalybeate;  some  copper,  (cupriferous,) 
some  lime,  (calcareous,)  some  salt,  (saline,)  while  others 
give  off'  sulphureous  vapors ;  and  so  on  with  almost  every 
known  mineral. 

Those  issuing  from  strata  containing  iron  or  lime  are 

40  more  or  less  impregnated  with  these  substances ;  and  w^hen 
they  arrive  at  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  their  waters 
become  exposed  to  the  air,  the  ferruginous  or  limy  matter 
is  deposited  along  their  courses,  or  is  carried  down  to  the 
nearest  river  or  lake. 


EX.  cm.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  391 

If  layers  of  mud,  sand  or  gravel,  be  forming  in  such  a 
lake,  these  layers  will  be  impregnated  with  the  matter  of 
the  springs ;  hence  geologists  speak  of  ferruginous,  calca- 
reous, or  saliferous  strata.  Mineral  springs  may  therefore 
5  be  said  to  exert  a  two-fold  influence  :  —  first,  by  dissolving 
and  carrying  away  matter  from  the  strata  beneath ;  and, 
second,  by  adding  that  matter  to  the  strata  which  are  now 
being  formed  on  the  surface. 

The  student  will  thus  perceive  the  manner  in  which 

10  springs  act  in  modifying  the  crust  of  the  earth ;  and  in 
proportion  to  their  size,  the  softness  of  the  strata  through 
which  they  passed,  and  the  degree  of  heat  they  had 
acquired,  so  must  the  extent  of  their  influence  have  been 
at  any  former  period. 

15  Rivers  are  the  most  important  aqueous  agents  employed 
in  modifying  the  surface  of  the  globe.  Springs,  as  they 
issue  into  open  day,  naturally  seek  a  lower  level;  and 
numbers  of  them,  meeting  in  one  channel,  form  streams, 
which 'again  join  in  some  still  lower  valley,  where  their 

20  union  produces  rivers  of  various  sizes.  Rivers  may  be 
said  to  be  a  species  of  natural  drainings,  by  which  the 
superabundant  moisture  which  falls  on  the  land  is  again 
returned  to  the  sea.  They  are  of  all  dimensions  :  —  in 
breadth  from  a  few  feet  to  several  miles ;  so  shallow  that  a 

25  boy  might  wade  them,  or  so  deep  as  to  float  the  largest 
ships ;  and  ranging  in  length  of  course  from  fifty  or  sixty 
miles  to  as  many  hundreds. 

The  geological  action  of  rivers    is    two-fold :  —  first,  by 
wearing  down  the  land  through  which  they  pass,  and  then 

30  by  carrying  down  the  material  to  lakes  and  seas.  Both 
their  degrading  and  transporting  force  depends  upon  their 
velocity.  For  example,  it  has  been  calculated  that  a  force  of 
three  inches  per  second  will  tear  up  fine  clay,  six  inches  will 
lift  fine  sand,  eight  inches  sand  as  coarse  as  linseed,  and 

35  twelve  fine  gravel ;  while  it  requires  a  velocity  of  twenty- 
four  inches  per  second  to  roll  along  rounded  pebbles  an 
inch  in  diameter,  and  thirty-six  inches  per  second  to  sweep 
angular  stones  of  the  size  of  a  hen's  egg. 

Rivers,  during  floods,  often  acquire  a   much   greater 

40  velocity  than  this,  and  stones  of  considerable  weight  are 
borne  -down  by  their  currents.  The  degrading  power  of 
running  water  depends  also  upon  the  kind  of  material 
through  which  it  flows ;  loose  soil,  clay,  and  sandstone 
being  easily  worn  down,  while  granite  or  basalt  will  sufier 

45  little  loss  for  centuries. 


392  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cm. 

The  mere  flowing  of  pure  water  would  exert  little  influ- 
ence on  hard  rocks ;  but  all  rivers  carry  down  sand  and 
gravel;  and  these,  by  rubbing  and  striking  against  the 
sides  and  bottoms  of  the  channel,  assist  in  scooping  out 
5  those  channels  which  everywhere  present  themselves. 
The  Nerbuddah,  a  river  of  India,  has  scooped  out  a  chan- 
nel in  basaltic  rock  one  hundred  feet  deep. 

Messrs.  Sedgwick  and  Murchison  give  an  account  of 
gorges  scooped  out  in  beds  of  the  rock  called  conglomerate, 

10  in  the  valleys  of  the  Eastern  Alps,  six  or  seven  hundred 
feet  deep.  A  stream  of  lava,  which  was  vomited  from 
-^tna  in  1603,  happened  to  flow  across  the  channel  of 
the  river  Simeto.  Since  that  time  the  stream  has  cut  a 
passage  through  the  compact  rock  to  the  depth  of  between 

15  forty  and  fifty  feet,  and  to  the  breadth  of  between  fifty  and 
several  hundred  feet. 

The  cataract  of  Niagara,  in  North  America,  has  receded 
nearly  fifty  yards  during  the  last  forty  years.  Below  the 
falls,  the  river  flows  in  a  channel  upwards  of  one  hundred 

20  and  fifty  feet  deep  and  one  hundred  and  sixty  yards  wide, 
for  a  distance  of  seven  miles ;  and  this  channel  has  evi- 
dently been  produced  by  the  action  of  the  river.  Such 
eflfects  as  the  above  are  produced  by  the  general  or  ordinary 
action  of  water ;  but  when  rivers  are  swollen  by  heavy 

25  rains,  by  the  sudden  melting  of  snow,  and  the  like,  then 
they  act  with  extraordinary  violence. 

In  these  cases  they  overflow  their  banks,  rush  with  a 
velocity  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet  per  second,  tear  up  the  soil, 
and  sweep  before  them  trees,  animals,  houses,  and  bridges. 

30  The  water  of  all  rivers  which  exert  a  degrading  influence 
is  more  or  less  turbid,  and  an  id*?a  of  their  power  may  be 
formed  by  observing  this  fact. 

The  matter  which  rivers  carry  down  is  either  deposited 
along  their  banks,  in  lakes,  or  in  the  ocean.     If  they  flow 

35  sluggishly  along  a  flat  valley,  the  mud  and  sand  which 
their  waters  contain  gradually  falls  to  the  bottom,  and  there 
rest  as  sediment.  This  sedimentary  njatter  forms  what  is 
called  alluvial  land,  and  most  of  the  flat  an^^^  fertile  valleys 
in  the  world  have  been  so  produced. 

40  Again,  when  a  lake  occurs  in  the  course  cf  rivers,  the 
sediment  is  there  collected,  and  the  water  issuss  ^rora  the 
lake  as  if  it  had  been  filtered.  In  progress  of  time,  lakes 
are  filled  or  sifted  up  with  this  sediment,  and  their  basins 
appear  first  as  marshes,  and  latterly  as  alluvial  land. 


EX.  cm.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  393 

But  whatever  quantity  of  matter  may  be  deposited  in 
valleys  or  lakes,  the  greatest  amount  will  always  be  carried 
down  to  the  ocean,  and  deposited  at  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
or  along  the  shores.  The  heaviest  material,  such  as 
5  gravel,  will  fall  down  first,  then  the  lighter  sand,  and  ulti- 
mately the  finest  mud.  The  mud  of  the  Ganges  discolors 
the  Bay  of  Bengal  to  a  distance  of  sixty  miles  from  its 
mouth ;  and,  according  to  Captain  Sabine,  the  muddy 
waters  of  the  Amazon  may  be  distinguished  three  hundred 

10  miles  from  the  shore. 

The  consequence  of  this  continual  seaward  carriage  of 
sedimentary  matter  is,  that  at  the  mouths  of  most  rivers 
there  are  alluvial  formations  known  by  the  name  of  deltas ; 
such  as  those  of  the  Nile,  the  Ganges,  tlffe  Niger,  &c. 

15  They  take  their  name  from  their  resemblance  in  shape  to 
the  Greek  letter  A  (delta;)  and  frequently  extend  over 
vast  surfaces  —  that  of  the  Ganges  being  about  two  hun- 
dred miles  in  one  direction,  by  two  hundred  and  twenty 
in  another.     They  consist  of  alternate  layers  of  sand, 

20  gravel,  or  mud,  according  to  the  kind  of  material  the  river 
carries  down. 

The  geological  results  effected  by  the  agency  of  running 
water  are  ceaseless  and  universal.  Rivers  are  gradually 
wearing  down  the  hills  and  higher  lands,  and  as  gradually 

25  silting  up  lakes  and  low  tracks  of  valley  land.  They  lay 
down  beds  of  gravel,  sand,  or  mud ;  and  these  beds,  again, 
enclose  trees,  plants,  and  the  bones  and  shells  of  animals, 
in  greater  or  less  abundance. 

As  rivers  now  act,  so  must  they  have  always  acted,  and 

30  to  this  kind  of  agency  must  we  ascribe  the  formation  of 
many  of  the  rocks  (with  their  fossils)  which  now  form  the 
crust  of  the  earth,  both  at  great  depths  and  at  distances 
now  far  removed  from  the  sea.  We  have  no  actual 
knowledge  of  the  rivers  of  the  ancient  world ;  but  judging 

35  from  the  extent  of  sedimentary  rocks,  they  must  have  been 
much  more  gigantic  than  most  of  those  now  existing. 

Waves,  currents,  and  tides  are  also  powerful  geological 
agents.  Waves  are  continually  in  action  ;  and  according 
to  their  violence,  and  the  materials  composing  the  sea-coast, 

40  so  is  the  amount  of  change  produced.  Clifls  of  sandstone, 
chalk,  clay,  or  other  soft  rock,  are,  year  after  year,  under- 
mined by  their  force;  masses  fall  down,  are  soon  ground 
to  pieces,  and  swept  off  by  every  tide  ;  new  underminings 
take  place  ;   new  masses  fall  down,  and  thus  thousands  of 

45  acres  of  land  have  been  reduced  to  a  level  with  the  sea 


394  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  civ. 

What  the  waves  batter  down,  the  tides  and   currents 

transport  to  sheltered  bays  and  creeks  along  the  shore  ;  so 

that,  while  in  one  quarter  the  sea  is  making  encroachments 

on  the  land,  in  another  it  is  accurrxulating  sand  and  gravel 

5  to  form  new  land. 

The  power  of  waves  and  currents  is  much  increased  by 
the  fact  that  rocks  are  more  easily  moved  in  water,  and 
thus  gravel  beaches  are  piled  up  or  swept  away  with  appa- 
rent facility.     The  ordinary  action  is  small,  however,  com- 

10  pared  with  what  is  sometimes  accomplished  during  storms 
and  high  inundations  ;  and  those  who  have  witnessed  the 
effects  of  a  few  successive  tides  at  such  periods  will  readily 
form  an  estimate  of  what  may  be  accomplished  during  the 
lapse  of  ages. 

15  The  action  of  waves,  currents  and  tides,  is  varied  and 
complicated ;  but  it  may  be  stated  generally,  that  waves 
batter  down  the  sea-cliffs,  or  raise  up  loose  matter  from  the 
bottom  ;  that  tidal  currents  convey  the  disintegrated  matter 
to  more  sheltered  bays  and  creeks- ;  and  that  oceanic  cur- 

20  rents  convey  floating  material,  such  as  drift-wood,  plants, 
and  dead  animals,  from  one  part  of  the  ocean  to  another. 
Tides  rise  and  ebb  from  four  to  forty  feet ;  they  enter  into 
certain  rivers  for  many  miles,  and  thus  a  mingling  of  fresh 
water  and  marine  deposits  takes  place.     As  at  present,  so 

25  in  ages  past ;  and  by  diligently  studying  the  effects  pro- 
duced by  waves  and  tides,  the  student  will  be  enabled  to 
account  for  many  apppearances  which  the  sedimentary 
rocks  present.  —  David  Page, 


EXERCISE    CIV. 

Soliloquy  of  Hamlet  on  Death. 

To  be,  or  not  to  be  ;  —  that  is  the  question. 
30     Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 

The  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune  ; 

Or,  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  trouble. 

And,  by  opposing,  end  them. 

To  die  —  to 
35     No  more  ?  —  and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to  —  't  is  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished. 


EX.  CV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  305 

To  die  —  to  sleep  ; 
To  sleep  —  perchance  to  dream  ;  ay,  there  's  the  rub  — 
For,  in  that  sleep  of  death,  what  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
5     Must  give  us  pause.  —  There  's  the  respect, 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life. 

For,  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 
The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely. 
The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 

10     The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes  — 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin  ? 

Who  would  fardels  b^ar 

15     To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death 
(That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns)  puzzles  the  will, 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 

20     Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ? 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all : 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 

25     With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  away. 

And  lose  the  name  of  action.  Shakspeare. 


EXERCISE  CV. 

Hotspur^ s  Soliloquy  on  the  Contents  of  a  Letter. 

"  But,  for  mine  own  part,  my  lord,  I  could  be  well  con- 
tented to  be  there,  in  respect  of  the  love  I  bear  your 
house."  —  He  could  be  contented  to  be  there!     Why  is 

30  he  not,  then  ?  —  In  respect  of  the  love  he  bears  our  house  ! 
He  shows  in  this  he  loves  his  own  bam  better  than  he 
loves  our  house.     Let  me  see  some  more. 

"  The  purpose  you  undertake  is  dangerous."  —  Why, 
that  's  certain  ;  —  't  is  dangerous  to  take  a  cold,  to  sleep, 

35  to  drink  :  but  I  tell  you,  my  Lord  Fool,  out  of  this  nettle 
danger  we  pluck  this  flower  safety.  "  The  purpose  you 
undertake  is  dangerous  ;  the  friends  you  have  named,  un- 
certain ;  the  time  itself,  unsorted ;  and  your  whole  plot  too 


396  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cvi. 

light  for  the  counterpoise  of  so  great  an  opposition."  —  Say 
you  so  ?  —  say  you  so  ?  I  say  unto  you  again,  you  are  a 
shallow,  cowardly  hind,  and  you  lie  ! 

What  a  lackbrain  is  this  !  Our  plot  is  a  good  plot  as 
5  ever  was  laid  ;  our  friends  true  and  constant ;  —  a  good 
plot,  good  friends,  and  full  of  expectation ;  —  an  excellent 
plot,  very  good  friends.  What  a  frosty-spirited  rogue  is 
this  !  Why,  my  Lord  of  York  commends  the  plot,  and  the 
general  course  of  the  action.     By  this  hand,  if  I  were  now 

10  by  this  rascal,  I  could  brain  him  with  his  lady's  fan.  Is 
there  not  my  father,  my  uncle,  and  myself  ?  Lord  Edmund 
Mortimer,  my  Lord  of  York,  and  Owen  Glendower  ?  Is 
there  not,  besides,  the  Douglases  ?  Have  I  not  all  their 
letters,  to  meet  me   in  arms  by  the  ninth  of  the  next 

15  month  ?  and  are  there  not  some  of  them  set  forward 
already  ? 

What  a  pagan  rascal  is  this!  —  an  infidel!  Ha!  you 
shall  see  now,  in  very  sincerity  of  fear  and  cold  heart,  will 
he  to  the  king,  and  lay  open  all  our  proceedings.     Oh  !  I* 

20  could  divide  myself  and  go  to  buffets,  for  moving  such  a 
dish  of  skimmed  milk  with  so  honorable  an  action  !  Hang 
him !  let  him  tell  the  king.  We  are  prepared.  I  will  set 
forward  to-night.  —  Shakspeare. 


EXERCISE  CVI. 
The  Cataract  of  Lodore. 

[This  piece  should  be  read  with  tones  in  which  "  the  sound  is  an  echo  of  the  sense.' 

"  How  does  the  water  come  down  at  Lodore  ?  " 
25  "  Here  it  comes  sparkling. 

And  there  it  lies  darkling ; 

Here  smoking  and  frothing. 

Its  tumult  and  wrath  in, 

It  hastens  along,  conflicting  and  strong,  — 
30  Now  striking  and  raging, 

As  if  a  war  waging, 

Its  caverns  and  rocks  among. 
"  Rising  and  leaping. 

Sinking  and  creeping, 
35  Swelling  and  flinging. 

Showering  and  springing, 

Eddying  and  whisking, 


EX.  CVI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  397 

Spouting  and  friskingr, 
Turning  and  twisting 

Around  and  around ; 
Collecting,  disjecting, 
6  With  endless  rebound  : 

Smiting  and  fighting,  — 
A  sight  to  delight  in,  — 
Confounding,  astounding, 
Dinning  and  deafening  the  ear  with  its  sound. 
10  "  Receding  and  speeding, 

And  shocking  and  rocking, 
And  darting  and  parting. 
And  threading  and  spreading, 
And  whizzing  and  hissing,  ^ 

15  And  dripping  and  skipping. 

And  whitening  and  brightening, 
And  quivering  and  shivering, 
And  hitting  and  splitting. 
And  shining  and  twining, 
20  And  rattling  and  battling. 

And  shaking  and  quaking. 
And  pouring  and  roaring, 
And  waving  and  raving, 
And  tossing  and  crossing, 
25  And  flowing  and  glowing, 

And  running  and  stunning. 
And  hurrying  and  skurrying. 
And  glittering  and  frittering, 
And  gathering  and  feathering, 
30  And  dinning  and  spinning. 

And  foaming  and  roaming, 
And  dropping  and  hopping. 
And  working  and  jerking. 
And  guggling  and  struggling, 
36  And  heaving  and  cleaving. 

And  thundering  and  floundering, 
And  faUing  and  brawling  and  sprawling, 
And  driving  and  riving  and  striving. 
And  sprinkling  and  twinkling  and  wrinkling, 
40         And  sounding  and  bounding  and  rounding, 
And  bubbling  and  troubling  and  doubling. 
Dividing  and  gliding  and  sliding, 
And  grumbling  and  rumbling  and  tumbling, 
And  clattering  and  battering  and  shattering, 
34 


398  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cvii. 

And  gleaming  and  streaming  and  steaming  and  beaming, 
And  rushing  and  flushing  and  brushing  and  gushing, 
And  curling  and  whirling  and  purling  and  twirling, 
Retreating  and  meeting  and  beating  and  sheeting, 
5  Delaying  and  straying  and  playing  and  spraying. 
Advancing  and  prancing  and  glancing  and  dancing, 
Recoiling,  turmoiling  and  toiling  and  boiling, 
And  thumping  and  flumping  and  bumping  and  jumping. 
And  dashing  and  flashing  and  splashing  and  clashing ; 
10       And  so  never  ending  but  always  descending, 

Sounds  and  motion  forever  and  ever  are  blending. 
All  at  once  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty  uproar ;  — 
And  this  way  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore." 

Southey. 


EXERCISE  CVn. 
On  the  Poioer  of  Custom,  and  the  Uses  to  which  it  may  he 


There  is  not  a  common  saying  which  has  a  better  turn 

15  of  sense  in  it  than  what  we  often  hear  in  the  mouths  of 
the  vulgar,  that  "  Custom  is  a  second  nature."  It  is,  in- 
deed, able  to  form  the  man  anew,  and  give  him  inclinations 
and  capacities  altogether  different  from  those  he  was  bom 
with. 

20  A  person  who  is  addicted  to  play  or  gaming,  though  he 
took  but  little  delight  in  it  at  first,  by  degrees  contracts  so 
strong  an  inclination  towards  it,  and  gives  himself  up  so 
entirely  to  it,  that  it  seems  the  only  end  of  his  being. 
The  love  of  a  retired  or  busy  life  will  grow  upon  a  man 

25  insensibly,  as  he  is  conversant  in  the  one  or  the  other,  till 
he  is  utterly  unqualified  for  relishing  that  to  which  he  has 
been  for  some  time  disused. 

Nay,  a  man  may  smoke,  or  drink,  or  take  snufF,  till  he 
is  unable  to  pass  away  his  time  without  it,  not  to  mention 

30  how  our  delight  in  any  particular  study,  art,  or  science, 
rises  and  improves  in  proportion  to  the  application  which 
we  bestow  upon  it.  Thus,  what  was  at  first  an  exercise 
becomes  at  length  an  entertainment.  Our  employments 
are  changed  into  diversions.     The  mind  grows  fond  of 

35  those  actions  it  is  accustomed  to;  and  is  drawn  with  re- 
luctancy  from  those  paths  in  which  it  has  been  used  to 
walk. 


EX.  CVII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  399 

If  we  attentively  consider  this  property  of  human  na- 
ture, it  may  instruct  us  in  very  fine  moralities.  In  the 
first  place,  I  would  have  no  man  discouraged  with  that 
kind  of  life,  or  series  of  action,  in  which  the  choice  of 
5  others,  or  his  own  necessities,  may  have  engaged  him.  It 
may  perhaps  be  very  disagreeable  to  him,  at  first;  but  use 
and  application  will  certainly  render  it  not  only  less  pain- 
ful, but  pleasing  and  satisfactory. 

In  the  second  place,  I  would  recommend  to  every  one 

10  the  admirable  precept  which  Pythagoras  is  said  to  have 
given  to  his  disciples,  and  which  that  philosopher  must 
have  drawn  from  the  observation  I  have  enlarged  upon : 
"  Pitch  upon  that  course  of  life  which  is  the  most  excel- 
lent, and  custom  will  render  it  the  most  delightful." 

15  Men  whose  circumstances  will  permit  them  to  choose 
their  own  way  of  life  are  inexcusable  if  they  do  not  pur- 
sue that  which  their  judgment  tells  them  is  the  most  laud- 
able. The  voice  of  reason  is  more  to  be  regarded  than 
the  bent  of  any  present  inclination ;  since,  by  the  rule 

20  above  mentioned,  inclination  will  at  length  come  over  to 
reason,  though  we  can  never  force  reason  to  comply  with 
inclination. 

In  the  third  place,  this  observation  may  teach  the  most 
sensual  and  irreligious  man  to  overlook  those  hardships 

25  and  difficulties  which  are  apt  to  discourage  him  from  the 
prosecution  of  a  virtuous  life.  "  The  gods,"  said  Hesiod, 
"  have  placed  labor  before  virtue ;  the  way  to  her  is  at 
first  rough  and  difficult,  but  grows  more  smooth  and  easy 
the  further  we  advance  in  it."     The  man  who  proceeds 

30  in  it  with  steadiness  and  resolution  will,  in  a  little  time, 
find  that  "  her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  that 
all  her  paths  are  peace." 

To  enforce  this  consideration,  we  may  further  observe, 
that  the  practice  of  religion  will  not  only  be  attended  with 

35  that  pleasure  which  naturally  accompanies  those  actions 
to  which  we  are  habituated,  but  with  those  supernumerary 
joys  of  heart  that  rise  from  the  consciousness  of  such  a 
pleasure  ;  from  the  satisfaction  of  acting  up  to  the  dic- 
tates of  reason,  and  from  the  prospect  of  a  happy  immor- 

40  tality. 

In  the  fourth  place,  we  may  learn  from  this  observation 
which  we  have  made  on  the  mind  of  man  to  take  partic- 
ular care,  when  we  are  once  settled  in  a  regular  course  of 
life,  how  we  too  frequently  indulge  ourselves  in  even  the 


400  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cviii. 

most  innocent  diversions  and  entertainments ;  since  the 
mind  may  insensibly  fall  off  from  the  relish  of  virtuous 
actions,  and  by  degrees  exchange  that  pleasure  which  it 
takes  in  the  performance  of  its  duty  for  delights  of  a 
5  much  inferior  and  an  unprofitable  nature. 

The  last  use  which  I  shall  make  of  this  remarkable 
property  in  human  nature,  of  being  delighted  with  those 
actions  to  which  it  is  accustomed,  is,  to  show  how  abso- 
lutely necessary  it  is  for  us  to  gain  habits  of  virtue  in  this 

10  life,  if  we  would  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  next.  The 
state  of  bliss  we  call  heaven  will  not  be  capable  of  affect- 
ing those  minds  which  are  not  thus  qualified  for  it ;  we 
must,  in  this  world,  gain  a  relish  for  truth  and  virtue,  if 
we  would  be  able  to  taste  that  knowledge  and  perfection 

15  which  are  to  make  us  happy  in  the  next. 

The  seeds  of  those  spiritual  joys  and  raptures  which 
are  to  rise  up  and  flourish  in  the  soul  to  all  eternity  must 
be  planted  in  it  during  this  its  present  state  of  probation. 
In  short,  heaven  is  not  to  be  looked  upon  only  as  the  re 

20  ward,  but  as  the  natural  effect,  of  a  religious  life. 

Addison. 


EXERCISE  CVIII. 

The  Contrast. 

As  rueful  stood  his  other  half,  as  wan 
Of  cheek :  small  her  ambition  was  —  but  strange. 
The  distaff,  needle,  all  domestic  cares, 
Religion,  children,  husband,  home,  were  things 

25     She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of;  bitter  drugs 

That  sickened  her  soul.     The  house  of  wanton  mirth 
And  revelry,  the  mask,  the  dance,  she  loved, 
And  in  their  service  soul  and  body  spent 
Most  cheerfully  ;  a  little  admiration, 

30     Or  true,  or  false,  no  matter  which,  pleased  her. 
And  o'er  the  wreck  of  fortune  lost,  and  health. 
And  peace,  and  an  eternity  of  bliss 
Lost,  made  her  sweetly  smile.     She  was  convinced 
That  God  had  made  her  greatly  out  of  taste, 

35     And  took  much  pains  to  make  herself  anew. 
Bedaubed  with  paint,  and  hung  with  ornaments 
Of  curious  selection  —  gaudy  toy  ! 
A  show  unpaid  for,  paying  to  be  seen ' 


EX.  CVIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  401 

As  beggar  by  the  way,  most  humbly  asking 

The  ahns  of  public  gaze,  she  went  abroad  : 

Folly  admired,  and  indication  gave 

Of  envy;  cold  civility  made  bows, 
5     And  smoothly  flattered ;  wisdom  shook  his  head ; 

And  laughter  shaped  his  lip  into  a  smile ; 

Sobriety  did  stare  ;  forethought  grew  pale ; 

And  modesty  hung  down  the  head  and  blushed ; 

And  pity  wept,  as,  on  the  frothy  surge 
10     Of  fashion  tossed,  she  passed  them  by,  like  sail 

Before  some  devilish  blast,  and  got  no  time 

To  think,  and  never  thought,  till  on  the  rock 

She  dashed  of  ruin,  anguish,  and  despair. 

O  how  unlike  this  giddy  thing  in  time,  " 

15     And  at  the  day  of  judgment  how  unlike, 

The  modest,  meek,  retiring  dame  !     Her  house 

Was  ordered  well ;  her  children  taught  the  way 

Of  life  —  who,  rising  up  in  honor,  called 

Her  blest.     Best  pleased  to  be  admired  at  home, 
20     And  hear  reflected  from  her  husband's  praise 

Her  owTi,  she  sought  no  gaze  of  foreign  eye. 

His  praise  alone,  and  faithful  love  and  trust 

Reposed,  was  happiness  enough  for  her. 

Yet  who  that  saw  her  pass,  and  heard  the  poor 
25     With  earnest  benedictions  on  her  steps 

Attend,  could  from  obeisance  keep  his  eye. 

Or  tongue  from  due  applause.     In  virtue  fair, 

Adorned  with  modesty,  and  matron  grace 

Unspeakable,  and  love  —  her  face  was  like 
30     The  light,  most  welcome  to  the  eye  of  man ; 

Refreshing  most,  most  honored,  most  desired, 

Of  all  he  saw  in  the  dim  world  below. 

As  morning  when  she  shed  her  golden  locks, 

And  on  the  dewy  top  of  Hermon  walked, 
35     Or  Zion  hill  —  so  glorious  was  her  path : 

Old  men  beheld  and  did  her  reverence, 

And  bade  their  daughters  look,  and  take  from  her 

Example  of  their  future  life  :  the  young 

Admired,  and  new  resolve  of  virtue  made. 
40     And  none  who  was  her  husband  asked  :  his  air 

Serene,  and  countenance  of  joy,  the  sign 

Of  inward  satisfaction,  as  he  passed 

The  crowd,  or  sat  among  the  elders,  told. 

In  holiness  complete,  and  in  the  robes 
34=»«= 


402  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cviu. 

Of  saving  righteousness,  arrayed  for  heaven, 

How  fair,  that  day,  among  the  fair,  she  stood ! 

How  lovely  on  the  eternal  hills  her  steps ! 
Kestored  to  reason,  on  that  morn  appeared 
5     The  lunatic  —  who  raved  in  chains,  and  asked 

No  mercy,  when  he  died.     Of  lunacy 

Innumerous  were  the  causes  :  humbled  pride, 

Ambition  disappointed,  riches  lost, 

And  bodily  disease,  and  sorrow,  oft 
10     By  man  inflicted  on  his  brother  man ; 

Sorrow,  that  made  the  reason  drunk,  and  yet 
*      Left  much  untasted  —  so  the  cup  was  filled  : 

Sorrow,  that  like  an  ocean,  dark,  deep,  rough, 

And  shoreless,  rolled  its  billows  o'er  the  soul 
15     Perpetually,  and  without  hope  of  end. 

Take  one  example,  one  of  female  woe. 

Loved  by  a  father  and  a  mother's  love, 

In  rural  peace  she  lived,  so  fair,  so  light 

Of  heart,  so  good,  and  young,  that  reason  scarce 
20     The  eye  could  credit,  but  would  doubt,  as  she 

Did  stoop  to  pull  the  lily  or  the  rose 

From  morning's  dew,  if  it  reality 

Of  flesh  and  blood,  or  holy  vision,  saw, 

In  imagery  of  perfect  womanhood. 
25     But  short  her  bloom  —  her  happiness  was  short. 

One  saw  her  loveliness,  and  with  desire 

Unhallowed  burning,  to  her  ear  addressed 

Dishonest  words :  "  Her  favor  was  his  life. 

His  heaven ;  her  frown  his  woe,  his  night,  his  death." 
30     With  turgid  phrase  thus  wove  in  flattery's  loom, 

He  on  her  womanish  nature  won,  and  age 

Suspicionless,  and  ruined,  and  forsook : 

For  he  a  chosen  villain  was  at  heart, 

And  capable  of  deeds  that  durst  not  seek 
35     Repentance.     Soon  her  father  saw  her  shame ; 

His  heart  grew  stone ;  he  drove  her  forth  to  want 

And  wintry  winds,  and  with  a  horrid  curse 

Pursued  her  ear,  forbidding  all  return. 
Upon  a  hoary  cliff  that  watched  the  sea 
40     Her  babe  was  found  —  dead  :  on  its  little  cheek 

The  tear,  that  nature  bade  it  weep,  had  turned 

An  ice-drop,  sparkling  in  the  morning  beam ; 

And  to  the  turf  its  helpless  hands  were  frozen ; 

For  she,  the  woful  mother,  had  gone  mad, 


EX.  CIXJ  RHETORICAL   READING.  403 

And  laid  it  down,  regardless  of  its  fate 
And  of  her  own.     Yet  had  she  many  days 
Of  sorrow  in  the  world,  but  never  wept. 
She  lived  on  alms ;   and  carried  in  her  hand 
5     Some  withered  stalks  she  gathered  in  the  spring : 
When  any  asked  the  cause,  she  smiled,  and  said 
They  were  her  sisters,  and  would  come  and  watch 
Her  grave  when  she  was  dead.     She  never  spoke 
Of  her  deceiver,  father,  mother,  home, 

10     Or  child,  or  heaven,  or  hell,  or  God  ;  but  still 
In  lonely  places  walked,  and  ever  gazed 
Upon  the  withered  stalks,  and  talked  to  them ; 
Till  wasted  to  the  shadow  of  her  youth, 
With  woe  too  wide  to  see  beyond  —  she  died : 

15     Not  unatoned  for  by  imputed  blood. 

Nor  by  the  Spirit  that  mysterious  works 
Unsanctified.     Aloud  her  father  cursed 
That  day  his  guilty  pride,  which  would  not  own 
A  daughter  whom  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth 

20     Was  not  ashamed  to  call  his  own ;  and  he 
Who  ruined  her  read  from  her  holy  look. 
That  pierced  him  with  perdition  manifold, 
His  sentence,  burning  with  vindictive  fire. 

Pollock's  Course  of  Time, 


EXERCISE  CIX. 

How  to  Remember  what  we  Bead. 

Most  readers,  1  presume,  will  open  this  chapter  with  no 

25  little  curiosity,  and  a  feeling  which  would  be  expressed  by 

these  words  :    "  My  memory  is  bad  enough  —  would   it 

were  as  good  as  that  of  such  a  one  of  my  friends  !    Let  me 

see  if  there  be  any  rules  to  suit  so  bad  a  case  as  mine." 

Now,  before  you  decide  that  you  have  a  worse  memory 

30  than  your  friend,  let  me  ask,  —  is  there  no  one  subject  on 

which  you  can  equal  him  ?     You  have  no  doubt  observed 

that  a  large  class  of  men  who  are  devoted  exclusively  and 

literally  to  animal  pursuits  —  sportsmen,  to  wit  —  have  the 

greatest  difficulty  in  remembering  matters  of  history  or 

35  general  literature,  but  yet  are  so  ready  with  the  names  of 

all  the  winners  of  the  Derby,  Oaks,  or  St.  Leger,  and  the 

progeny  and  pedigree  of  each,  that  a  scholar  would  be  as 


404  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cix. 

much  surprised  at  their  memory  of  horses  and  mares,  as 
they  could  be  at  the  scholar's  memory  of  kings  and  queens. 
Probably  you  will  now  say,  "  All  this  we  grant;  it  is 
true  we  have  memory  for  some  things  but  not  for  litera- 
5  ture."  Your  meaning  is,  that  you  have  memory  where 
you  have  attention.  The  sportsman  cannot  attend  to  books, 
nor  the  scholar  to  horses.  The  art  of  memory  is  the  art 
of  attention.  A  memory  for  literature  will  increase  with 
that  interest  in  literature  by  which  attention  is  increased. 

10  The  sportsman  could  remember  pages  of  history  relating 
to  forest  laws,  or  encouragement  of  the  breed  of  horses, 
but  not  the  adjoining  pages  on  the  law  of  succession ;  and 
only  because  he  felt  an  interest,  and  consequently  paid  at- 
tention, in  reading  the  one,  but  not  the  other. 

15  Again,  memory  depends  on  association,  or  the  tendency 
of  some  things  to  suggest  or  make  us  think  of  others. 
The  geologist  remembers  fossils,  but  not  flowers ;  and  the 
botanist  flowers,  but  not  fossils.  Each  has  in  his  mind  a 
"  cell "  for  the  one  specimen,  but  not  for  the  other ;    and 

20  the  observations  which  fall  in  with  the  ideas  of  the  geolo- 
gist, and  link  to  many  a  subtle  chain  of  thought,  remain 
alone  and  unassociated  in  the  mind  of  the  botanist.  Asso- 
ciation certainly  is,  in  some  respects,  an  aid  to  attention ; 
they  are  usually  considered  as  distinct,  and  the  basis  of 

25  memory;  therefore  every  rule  I  can  give  for  promoting 
either  attention  or  association  will  be  virtually  rules  for 
memory. 

Memory  is  assisted  by  whatever  tends  to  a  full  view  and 
clear   apprehension  of  a  subject.     Therefore,  in  reading 

30  history,  occasionally  lay  the  book  aside  and  try  if  you  can 
give  a  connected  narrative  of  events.  "  What  thou  dost 
not  know,  thou  canst  not  tell,"  but  clear  ideas  never  want 
plain  words.  Do  not  be  satisfied  with  feeling  that  the 
subject  is  too  familiar  for  repetition  to  be  necessary.    The 

n5  better  a  story  is  known,  the  less  time  it  will  take  to  repeat. 
Put  your  "thoughts  in  express  words."  —  This  is  an 
invaluable  exercise ;    for,  first  of  all,  you  will  greatly  im- 
prove your  power  of  expression,  and  gain  that  command 
of  language  on  which  one  of  my  friends  heard  Fox  com- 

40  pliment  Pitt,  as  having  not  only  a  word,  but  the  word,  the 
very  word,  to  express  his  meaning. 

Secondly,  the  practice  of  putting  your  thoughts  into 
words  will  improve  your  power  of  conception.  When  you 
see  a  speaker,  in  a  long  argument,  contract  and  fix  his  eye 


EX.  CIX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  405 

as  if  on  some  aerial  form,  he  is  trying  to  body  forth  his 
ideas  and  hold  them  up  as  a  picture,  from  which  he  may 
select,  read  off,  and  lay  before  his  hearers,  such  portions  as 
he  thinks  will  convey  the  desired  impression. 
5  Conception  is  the  quality  for  which  we  call  a  man  "clear- 
headed ; "  for  this  enables  him  to  grasp  at  one  view  the 
beginning,  middle,  and  end  of  what  he  means  to  say,  and 
have  the  order  of  his  ideas  at  the  direction  of  a  cool  judg- 
ment, instead  of  depending  upon  chance.  To  repeat  a 
10  narrative  to  another  is  better  still  than  repeating  it  to  your- 
self; you  are  more  excited  to  accuracy,  and  your  memory 
is  assisted  by  the  degree  of  attention  and  association  which 
casual  remarks  and  questions  may  promote. 

With  a  view  to  distinct  conception,  writing  is  usually 

15  recommended  to  aid  memory.  As  to  mere  transcribing, 
though  much  has  been  advanced  in  its  favor,  I  believe  it  is 
by  no  means  to  be  adopted.  Much  experience  has  shown 
me  that  it  not  only  wastes  time,  but  deceives  us  as  to  the 
extent  of  our  knowledge.     We  are  flattered  at  the  sight 

20  of  the  paper  we  fill,  while  in  reality  we  are  exercising  not 
our  wits  but  our  fingers. 

Every  university  student  knows  how  common  it  is  to 
find  men  of  misguided  industry,  with  desks  full  and  heads 
empty.     Writing  never  aids  memory  but  when  it  tends 

25  to  clear  conception.  Most  persons  find  it  more  pleasant 
to  draw  a  sketch  of  a  subject  on  a  sheet  of  paper  than  on 
the  tablets  of  the  mind,  but  let  them  not  suppose  it  is  more 
improving. 

When  you  want  relief  or  variety,  you  may  try  to  write, 

30  instead  of  repeating,  the  subject  of  your  morning's  reading; 
but  you  will  soon  admit  that  the  viva  voce  exercise  is  the 
better  of  the  two.  In  speaking  of  conception,  Abercrombie 
relates  the  case  of  a  distinguished  actor,  who  created  great 
surprise  by  learning  a  long  part  with  very  short  notice. 

35  "  When  questioned  respecting  the  mental  process  which  he 
employed,  he  said  that  he  lost  sight  entirely  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  seemed  to  have  nothing  before  him  but  the  pages 
of  the  book  from  which  he  had  learned ;  and  that  if  any- 
thing had  occurred  to  interrupt  that  illusion,  he  should  have 

40  stopped  instantly." 

Secondly.  Memory  is  assisted  by  whatever  adds  to  our 
interest  or  entertainment.  —  Therefore,  all  the  remarks  I 
have  made  relative  to  being  guided  by  curiosity  and  incli- 


406  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cix. 

nation  are  hints  for  memory.  A  man  rarely  forgets  a  fact 
which  he  hears  in  answer  to  a  question  he  has  himself 
originated  ;  and  the  art  of  reading  is  to  gain  facts  in  such 
order  that  each  shall  be  a  nucleus  or  basis,  as  Abercrombie 
5  says,  of  more ;  in  other  words,  that  every  fact  may  be  an 
answer  to  some  question  already  in  our  minds,  and  suggest 
in  its  turn  a  new  question  in  an  endless  series. 

Thirdly.  Memory  depends  much  on  a  thorough  deter- 
mination  to   remember.  —  Most    persons    have   memory 

10  enough  for  the  purposes  of  their  own  business.  Ask  the 
guard  of  the  mail  how  he  remembers  the  places  at  which 
he  has  to  drop  his  many  parcels,  and  he  will  tell  you,  "  be- 
cause he  must."  And  if  you  put  the  same  question  to 
any  number  of  different  persons  whose  fortune  depends  on 

15  the  constant  exercise  of  memory,  you  will  invariably  receive 
similar  answers,  which  is  a  proof  from  experience  that  our 
memory  depends  very  much  on  our  own  will  and  determin- 
ation. If,  by  the  force  of  resolution,  a  person  can  wake  at 
any  hour  in  the  morning,  it  is  easy  to  believe  that,  by  the 

20  same  means,  he  may  also  have  a  powerful  command  over 
his  memory. 

While  at  the  university,  I  had  a  very  remarkable  proof 
of  this.  I  was  assisting  in  his  studies,  previous  to  exam- 
ination, a  friend,  who  assured  me  he  could  not  remember 

25  what  he  read ;  that  such  had  been  the  case  during  fourteen 
university  terms.  But  I  said,  —  "  Now  you  must  remem- 
ber,—  I  know  you  can,  —  and  I  will  have  no  more  to  do 
with  you  if  you  do  not  answer  me  correctly  to-morrow  on 
what  we  read  to-day."     Having  rallied  him  in  this  way,  I 

30  heard  no  more  of  the  complaint.  After  his  examination, 
he  assured  me  that  he  was  perfectly  surprised  at  the  extent 
to  which  his  memory  had  served  him,  and  fairly  acknowl- 
edged that  for  years  he  had  given  way  to  a  state  of  mental 
inactivity,  never  stopping  to  try  his  memory,  but  thinking 

35  of  the  Castalian  stream  rather  after  the  manner  of  Baron 
Munchausen's  horse  when  he  had  lost  his  hinder  quarters 
with  the  portcullis. 

A  man  can  remember,  to  a  great  extent,  just  as  Johnson 
said  a  man  might  at  any  time  compose,  mastering  his  hu- 

40  mor,  if  he  will  only  set  to  work  with  a  dogged  determina- 
tion. "  That  they  can  conquer  who  believe  they  can," 
is  very  generally  true  where  the  mind  is  concerned.  A 
very  common  reason  that  men  do  not  remember  is,  that 
they  do  not  try  ;  a  hearty  and  ever-present  desire  to  pre- 
vail is  the  chief  element  of  all  success. 


EX.  CIX.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  407 

Nothing  but  the  fairy's  wand  can  realize  the  capricious 
desire  of  the  moment ;  but  as  to  the  objects  of  laudable 
wishes,  deeply  breathed,  and  for  many  a  night  and  day 
ever  present  to  the  mind,  —  these  are  placed  by  Providence 
5  more  within  our  reach  than  is  commonly  believed.  When 
a  person  says,  "If  I  could  only  have  my  wish,  I  would 
excel  in  such  an  art  or  science,"  we  may  generally  answer, 
"  The  truth  is,  you  have  no  such  wish  ;  all  you  covet  is 
the  empty  applause,  not  the  substantial  accomplishment." 

10  The  fault  is  "in  ourselves,  and  not  our  stars,"  if  we  are 
slaves,  and  blindly  yield  to  the  pretensions  of  the  many 
whose  tongues  would  exhaust  wiser  heads  than  their  own 
in  half  an  hour. 

Before   we   complain   of  want   of  power   and   mental 

15  weapons,  let  us  be  sure  that  we  make  full  use  of  what  we 
have.  When  we  see  one  man  write  without  hands,  and 
another  qualify  himself  (as  in  an  instance  within  my  own 
remembrance)  for  high  university  honors  without  eyes,  a 
complaint  of  our  memory,  or  other  faculties,  justifies  the 

20  same  conclusion  as  when  workmen  complain  of  their  tools. 

These,  or  at  least  other  instances  equally  surprising,  are 

founded  on  good  authority.     Still,  Abercrombie  justly  says, 

that  though  the  power  of  remembering  unconnected  facts 

and  lists  of  words  makes  a  great  show,  and  is  the  kind  of 

25  memory  most  generally  admired,  still  it  is  often  combined 
with  very  little  judgment,  and  is  not  so  important  a  feature 
in  a  cultivated  mind  as  that  memory  founded  on  the  rela- 
tions, analogies,  and  natural  connections  of  diflferent  sub- 
jects, which  is  more  in  our  power. 

30  Indeed,  mere  parrot  memory  is  of  less  use  than  is  gen- 
erally supposed.  It  is  true,  it  enables  a  superficial  person 
to  pass  off  the  opinions  of  others  as  his  own ;  but  educated 
men  can  generally  remember  enough  for  their  own  purposes, 
and  can  command  data  sufficient  for  the  operations  of  their 

35  judgment.  What  we  most  want  ready  and  available  is  the 
power  and  the  science,  not  the  tools.  A  mathematician  is 
such  still,  without  his  formulae  and  diagrams.  The  oldest 
judge  remembers  the  rules  of  law,  though  he  forgets  the 
case  in  point,  and  the  ablest  counsel  are  allowed  refreshers. 

40  Surely  it  is  enough  that  our  minds,  like  our  guns,  carry 
true  to  the  mark,  without  being  always  loaded. 

Fourthly.  Memory  is  assisted  by  whatever  tends  to 
connexion  or  association  of  ideas.  —  When  I  asked  the 
friend  above  mentioned  the  particular  means  he  took  to 
remember  his  lectures  previous  to  examination,  he  said, 


408  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  ex. 

that  besides  looking  everything  "  more  fully  in  the  face  " 
than  he  had  ever  done  before,  he  tried  "  to  match,  sort,  and 
put  along-side  of  something  similar,"  each  event  in  its 
5  turn,  and  also  to  say  to  himself,  —  "  Here  are  four  or  five 
causes,  circumstances,  or  characters,  relating  to  the  same 
thing ;  by  such  a  peculiarity  in  the  first  I  shall  remember 
the  second,  while  something  else  in  the  second  will  remind 
me  of  the  third  and  fourth." 

]0  During  this  process,  he  said  he  became  so  familiar  with 
many  facts,  that  he  could  remember  without  any  associa- 
tion at  all.  Again ;  in  all  the  works  and  phenomena  of 
nature,  moral  or  physical,  men  of  comprehensive  minds 
discern  a  marked  family  likeness ;  certain  facts  indicate  the 

15  existence  of  others ;  so  that  memory  is  assisted  by  a  cer- 
tain key  which  classification  suggests  ;  and  thus  one  effort 
of  memory  serves  for  all.  —  Pycroffs  Course  of  Reading. 


KXERCISE  ex. 

Happiness  equally  distributed. 

As  some  lone  miser,  visiting  his  store, 
Bends  at  his  treasure,  counts,  recounts  it  o'er, 

20     Hoards  after  hoards  his  rising  raptures  fill. 

Yet  still  he  sighs,  for  hoards  are  wanting  still : 
Thus  to  my  breast  alternate  passions  rise, 
Pleased  with  each  good  that  Heaven  to  man  supplies ; 
Yet  oft  a  sigh  prevails,  and  sorrows  fall, 

25     To  see  the  hoard  of  human  bliss  so  small ; 
And  oft  I  wish  amid  the  scene  to  find 
Some  spot  to  real  happiness  consigned, 
Where  my  worn  soul,  each  wandering  hope  at  rest, 
May  gather  bliss  to  see  my  fellows  blessed. 

30         But  where  to  find  that  happiest  spot  below, 
Who  can  direct,  when  all  pretend  to  know  ? 
The  shuddering  tenant  of  the  frigid  zone 
Boldly  proclaims  that  happiest  spot  his  own ; 
Extols  the  treasures  of  his  stormy  seas, 

35     And  his  long  nights  of  revelry  and  ease. 
The  naked  negro,  panting  at  the  line. 
Boasts  of  his  golden  sands  and  palmy  wine, 
Basks  in  the  glare,  or  stems  the  tepid  wave, 
And  thanks  his  gods  for  all  the  good  they  gave. 


EX.  CXI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  409 

Such  is  the  patriot's  boast  where'er  we  roam ; 
His  first,  best  country,  ever  is  at  home. 
And  yet,  perhaps,  if  countries  we  compare, 
And  estimate  the  blessings  which  they  share, 
5     Though  patriots  flatter,  still  shall  wisdom  find 
An  equal  portion  dealt  to  all  mankind : 
As  different  good,  by  art  or  nature  given 
To  different  nations,  makes  their  blessings  even. 
Nature,  a  mother  kind  alike  to  all, 
10     Still  grants  her  bliss  at  labor's  earnest  call ; 
With  food  as  well  the  peasant  is  supplied 
On  Idra's  cliffs  as  Arno's  shelvy  side ; 
And  though  the  rocky-crested  summits  frown. 
These  rocks,  by  custom,  turn  to  beds  of  down. 

15         Thus  every  good  his  native  wilds  impart 
Imprints  the  patriot  passion  on  his  heart ; 
And  even  those  hills  that  round  his  mansion  rise 
Enhance  the  bliss  his  scanty  fund  supplies. 
Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms, 

20     And  dear  that  hill  which  lifts  him  to  the  storms; 
And  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest, 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  the  mother's  breast, 
So  the  loud  torrent  and  the  whirlwind's  roar, 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 

Goldsmith. 


LESSON  CXI. 
Francisco  Pizarro. 

25  Francisco  Pizarro  was  tall  in  stature,  well  propor- 
tioned, and  with  a  countenance  not  unpleasing.  Bred  in 
camps,  with  nothing  of  the  polish  of  a  court,  he  had  a 
soldier-like  bearing,  and  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to  com- 
mand. 

30  But  though  not  polished,  there  was  no  embarrassment 
or  rusticity  in  his  address,  which,  where  it  served  his  pur- 
pose, could  be  plausible,  and  even  insinuating.  The  proof 
of  it  is  the  favorable  impression  made  by  him,  on  present- 
ing himself,  after  his  second  expedition  —  stranger  as  he 

35  was  to  all  its  forms  and  usages  —  at  the  punctilious  court 
of  Castile. 

Unlike  many  of  his  countrymen,  he  had  no  passion  fo 
35 


410  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cxi. 

ostentatious  dress,  which  he  regarded  as  an  encumbrance. 
The  costume  which  he  most  affected  on  public  occasions 
was  a  black  cloak,  with  a  white  hat,  and  shoes  of  the 
same  color ;  the  last,  it  is  said,  being  in  imitation  of  the 
5  Great  Captain,  whose  character  he  had  early  learned  to 
admire  in  Italy,  but  to  which  his  own,  certainly,  bore  very 
faint  resemblance. 

He  was  temperate  in  eating,  drank  sparingly,  and 
usually  rose  an  hour  before  dawn.     He  was  punctual  in 

10  attendance  to  business,  and  shrunk  from  no  toil.  He  had, 
indeed,  great  powers  of  patient  endurance.  Like  most  of 
his  nation,  he  was  fond  of  play,  and  cared  little  for  the 
quality  of  those  with  whom  he  played ;  though,  when  his 
antagonist  could  not  afford  to  lose,  he  would  allow  him- 

15  self,  it  is  said,  to  be  the  loser ;  a  mode  of  conferring  an 
obligation  much  commended  by  a  Castilian  writer,  for  its 
delicacy. 

Though  avaricious,  it  was  in  order  to  spend,  and  not  to 
hoard.     His  ample  treasures,  more  ample  than  those,  prob- 

20  ably,  that  ever  before  fell  to  the  lot  of  an  adventurer,  were 
mostly  dissipated  in  his  enterprises,  his  architectural  works, 
and  schemes  of  public  improvement,  which,  in  a  country 
where  gold  and  silver  might  be  said  to  have  lost  their 
value  from  their  abundance,  absorbed  an  incredible  amount 

25  of  money. 

While  he  regarded  the  whole  country,  in  a  manner,  as 
his  own,  and  distributed  it  freely  among  his  captains,  it  is 
certain  that  the  princely  grant  of  a  territory  with  twenty 
thousand  vassals,  made  to  him  by  the  crown,  was  never 

30  carried  into  effect ;  nor  did  his  heirs  ever  reap  the  benefit 
of  it. 

To  a  man  possessed  of  the  active  energies  of  Pizarro, 
sloth  was  the  greatest  evil.  The  excitement  of  play 
was  in  a  manner  necessary  to  a  spirit  accustomed  to  the 

35  habitual  stimulants  of  war  and  adventure.  His  unedu- 
cated mind  had  no  relish  for  more  refined,  intellectual 
recreation.  The  deserted  foundling  had  neither  been 
taught  to  read  nor  write.  This  has  been  disputed  by  some, 
but  it  is  so  attested  by  unexceptionable  authorities. 

40  Montesinos  says,  indeed,  that  Pizarro,  on  his  first  voy- 
age, tried  to  learn  to  read;  but  the  impatience  of  his 
temper  prevented  it,  and  he  contented  himself  with  learn- 
ing to  sign  his  name.  But  Montesinos  was  not  a  contem- 
porary historian.     Pedro  Pizarro,  his  companion  in  arms, 


EX.  CXI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  411 

expressly  tells  us  he  could  neither  read  nor  write ;  and 
Zarate,  another  contemporary,  well  acquainted  with  the 
conqueror,  confirms  this  statement;  and  adds,  that  Pizarro 
could  not  so  much  as  sign  his  name.     This  was  done  by 

5  his  secretary  —  Picado  in  his  latter  years  —  while  the 
governor  merely  made  the  customary  rubrka^  or  flourish 
at  the  sides  of  his  name. 

This  is  the  case  with  the  instruments  I  have  examined, 
in  which  his  signature,  written  probably  by  his  secretary, 

10  or  his  title  of  Marques,  in  later  life  substituted  for  his 
name,  is  garnished  with  a  flourish  at  the  ends,  executed 
in  as  bungling  a  manner  as  if  done  by  the  hand  of  a 
ploughman.  Yet  we  must  not  estimate  this  deficiency  as 
we  should  in  this  period  of  general  illumination,  —  gen- 

15  eral,  at  least,  in  our  own  fortunate  country. 

Reading  and  writing,  so  universal  now,  in  the  beginning 
of  the  sixteenth  century  might  be  regarded  in  the  light 
of  accomplishments ;  and  all  who  have  occasion  to  consult 
the  autograph  memorials  of  that  time  will  find  the  execution 

20  of  them,  even  by  persons  of  the  highest  rank,  too  often  such 

as  would  do  little  credit  to  a  school-boy  of  the  present  day. 

Though  bold  in  action,  and  not  easily  turned  from  his 

purpose,  Pizarro  w^as  slow  in  arriving  at  a  decision.    This 

gave  him  an  appearance  of  irresolution   foreign  to  his 

25  character.  Perhaps  the  consciousness  of  this  led  him  to 
adopt  the  custom  of  saying  "  No,"  at  first,  to  applicants  for 
favor ;  and  afterwards,  at  leisure,  to  revise  his  judgment, 
and  grant  what  seemed  to  him  expedient. 

He  took  the  opposite  course  from  his  comrade,  Almagro, 

30  who,  it  was  observed,  generally  said  "  Yes,"  but  too  often 
failed  to  keep  his  promise.  This  was  characteristic  of  the 
careless  and  easy  nature  of  the  latter,  governed  by  impulse 
rather  than  principle. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  speak  of  the  courage  of  a  man 

35  pledged  to  such  a  career  as  that  of  Pizarro.  Courage, 
indeed,  was  a  cheap  quality  among  the  Spanish  adven- 
turers, for  danger  was  their  element.  But  he  possessed 
something  higher  than  mere  animal  courage,  in  that  con- 
stancy of  purpose  which  was  rooted  too  deeply  in  his  na- 

40  ture  to  be  shaken  by  the  wildest  storms  of  fortune. 

It  was  this  inflexible  constancy  which  formed  the  key 
to  his  character,  and  constituted  the  secret  of  his  succei.;. 
A  remarkable  evidence  of  it  was  given  in  his  first  expedi- 
tion, among  the  mangroves  and  dreary  marshes  of  Choco, 


412  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cxi. 

He  saw  his  followers  pining  around  him  under  the  blight- 
ing malaria,  wasting  before  an  invisible  enemy,  and  unable 
to  strike  a  stroke  in  their  own  defence.  Yet  his  spirit  did 
not  yield,  nor  did  he  falter  in  his  enterprise. 
5  There  is  something  oppressive  to  the  imagination  in 
this  war  against  nature.  In  the  struggle  of  man  against 
man,  the  spirits  are  raised  by  a  contest  conducted  on  equal 
terms ;  but  in  a  war  with  the  elements,  we  feel  that,  how- 
ever bravely  we  may  contend,  we  can  have  no  power  to 

10  control.  Nor  are  we  cheered  on  by  the  prospect  of  glory 
in  such  a  contest ;  for,  in  the  capricious  estimate  of  human 
glory,  the  silent  endurance  of  privations,  however  painful, 
is  little,  in  comparison  with  the  ostentatious  trophies  of 
victory.     The  laurel  of  the  hero  —  alas  for  humanity  that 

15  it  should  be  so  !  —  grows  best  on  the  battle-field. 

This  inflexible  spirit  of  Pizarro  was  shown  still  more 
strongly,  when,  in  the  little  island  of  Gallo,  he  drew 
the  line  on  the  sand  which  was  to  separate  him  and 
his  handful  of  followers  from  their  country  and  from  civ 

20  ilized  man.  He  trusted  that  his  own  constancy  would 
give  strength  to  the  feeble,  and  rally  brave  hearts  around 
him  for  the  prosecution  of  his  enterprise.  He  looked  with 
confidence  to  the  future,  and  he  did  not  miscalculate. 
This  was  heroic,  and  wanted  only  a  nobler  motive  for  its 

25  object  to  constitute  the  true  moral  sublime. 

Yet  the  same  feature  in  his  character  was  displayed  in 
a  manner  scarcely  less  remarkable,  when,  landing  on  the 
coast  and  ascertaining  the  real  strength  and  civilization  of 
the  Incas,  he  persisted  in  marching  into  the  interior  at  the 

30  head  of  a  force  of  less  than  two  hundred  men.  In  this  he 
undoubtedly  proposed  to  himself  the  example  of  Cortez,  so 
contagious  to  the  adventurous  spirits  of  that  day,  and 
especially  to  Pizarro,  engaged,  as  he  was,  in  a  similar 
enterprise. 

35  Yet,  the  hazard  assumed  by  Pizarro  was  far  greater 
than  that  of  the  conqueror  of  Mexico,  whose  force  was 
nearly  three  times  as  large,  while  the  terrors  of  the  Inca 
name  —  however  justified  by  the  result  —  were  as  widely 
spread  as  those  of  the  Aztecs. 

40  It  was  doubtless  in  imitation  of  the  same  captivating 
model  that  Pizarro  planned  the  seizure  of  Atahuallpa. 
But  the  situations  of  the  two  Spanish  captains  were  as 
dissimilar  as  the  manner  in  which  their  acts  of  violence 
were  conducted.     The  wanton  massacre  of  the  Peruvians 


EX.  CXI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  413 

resembled  that  perpetrated  by  Alvarado  in  Mexico,  and 
might  have  been  attended  with  consequences  as  disastrous, 
if  the  Peruvian  character  had  been  as  fierce  as  that  of  the 
Aztecs.  But  the  blow  which  roused  the  latter  to  madness 
5  broke  the  tamer  spirits  of  the  Peruvians.  It  was  a  bold 
stroke,  which  left  so  much  to  chance  that  it  scarcely  merits 
the  name  of  policy. 

When  Pizarro  landed  in  the  country  he  found  it  dis- 
tracted by  a  contest  for  the  crown.  It  would  seem  to  have 
10  been  for  his  interest  to  play  oflT  one  party  against  the  other, 
throwing  his  own  weight  into  the  scale  that  suited  him. 
Instead  of  this,  he  resorted  to  an  act  of  audacious  violence 
which  crushed  them  both  at  a  blow. 

His  subsequent  cafeer  afforded  no  scope  for  the  profound 
15  policy  displayed  by  Cortez,  when  he  gathered  conflicting 
nations  under  his  banner,  and  directed  them  against  a 
common  foe.  Still  less  did  he  have  the  opportunity  of 
displaying  the  tactics  and  admirable  strategy  of  his  rival. 
Cortez  conducted  his  military  operations  on  the  scientific 
20  principles  of  a  great  captain  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  host. 
Pizarro  appears  only  as  an  adventurer,  —  a  fortunate 
knight-errant. 

By  one  bold  stroke  he  broke  the  spell  which  had  so  long 

held  the  land  under  the  dominion  of  the  Incas.     The  spell 

25  was  broken,  and  the  airy  fabric  of  their  empire,  built  on 

the  superstition  of  ages,  vanished  at  a  touch.     This  was 

good  fortune,  rather  than  the  result  of  policy. 

Pizarro  was  eminently  perfidious.  Yet  nothing  is  more 
opposed  to  sound  policy.  One  act  of  perfidy,  fully  estab- 
30  lished,  becomes  the  ruin  of  its  author.  The  man  who  re- 
linquishes confidence  in  his  good  faith  gives  up  the  best 
basis  for  future  operations.  Who  will  knowingly  build  on 
a  quicksand?  By  his  perfidious  treatment  of  Almagro, 
Pizarro  alienated  the  minds  of  the  Spaniards.  By  his 
35  perfidious  treatment  of  Atahuallpa,  and  subsequently  of 
the  Inca  Manco,  he  disgusted  the  Peruvians. 

The  name  of  Pizarro  became  a  by-word  for  perfidy. 
Almagro  took  his  revenge  in  a  civil  war;  Manco,  in  an  in- 
surrection which  nearly  cost  Pizarro  his  dominion.  The 
40  civil  war  terminated  in  a  conspiracy  which  cost  him  his 
life.  Such  were  the  fruits  of  his  policy.  Pizarro  may  be 
regarded  as  a  cunning  man ;  but  not,  as  he  has  been  often 
eulogized  by  his  countrymen,  as  a  politic  one. 

When  Pizarro  obtained  possession  of  Cuzco,  he  found  a 
35* 


414  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cxi. 

country  well  advanced  in  the  arts  of  civilization ;  institu- 
tions under  which  the  people  lived  in  tranquillity  and  per- 
sonal safety ;  the  mountains  and  the  uplands  whitened 
with  flocks ;  the  valleys  teeming  with  the  fruits  of  a  sci- 
5  entitle  husbandry ;  the  granaries  and  warehouses  filled  to 
overflowing ;  the  whole  land  rejoicing  in  its  abundance ; 
and  the  character  of  the  nation,  softened  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  mildest  and  most  innocent  form  of  superstition, 
well  prepared  for  the  reception  of  a  higher  and  a  Christian 

10  civilization. 

But  far  from  introducing  this,  Pizarro  delivered  up  the 
conquered  races  to  his  brutal  soldiery ;  the  sacred  cloisters 
were  abandoned  to  their  lust ;  the  towns  and  villages  were 
given  up  to  pillage ;  the  wretchgd  natives  were  parcelled 

15  out  like  slaves,  to  toil  for  their  conquerors  in  the  mines ; 
the  flocks  were  scattered,  and  wantonly  destroyed ;  the 
granaries  were  dissipated;  the  beautiful  contrivances  for 
the  more  perfect  culture  of  the  soil  were  suflfered  to  fall 
into  decay ;  the  paradise  was  converted  into  a  desert. 

20  Instead  of  profiting  by  the  ancient  forms  of  civilization, 
Pizarro  preferred  to  efface  every  vestige  of  them  from  the 
land,  and  on  their  ruin  to  erect  the  institutions  of  his  own 
country.  Yet  these  institutions  did  little  for  the  poor 
Indian,  held  in  iron  bondage.     It  was  little  to  him  that  the 

25  shores  of  the  Pacific  were  studded  with  rising  communities 
and  cities,  the  marts  of  a  flourishing  commerce.  He  had 
no  share  in  the  goodly  heritage.  He  was  an  alien  in  the 
land  of  his  fathers. 

The  religion  of  the  Peruvian,  which  directed  him  to 

30  the  worship  of  that  glorious  luminary  which  is  the  best 
representative  of  the  might  and  beneficence  of  the  Creator, 
is  perhaps  the  purest  form  of  superstition  that  has  existed 
among  men.  Yet  it  was  much,  that,  under  the  new  order 
of  things,  and  through  the  benevolent  zeal  of  the  mission- 

35  aries,  some  glimmerings  of  a  nobler  faith  were  permitted 
to  dawn  on  his  darkened  soul. 

Pizarro  himself  cannot  be  charged  with  manifesting  any 
overweening  solicitude  for  the  propagation  of  the  Faith. 
He  was  no  bigot,  like  Cortez.     Bigotry  is  the  perversion 

40  of  the  religious  principle;  but  the  principle  itself  was 
wanting  in  Pizarro.  The  conversion  of  the  heathen  was  a 
predominant  motive  with  Cortez  in  his  expedition.  It  was 
not  a  vain  boast.  He  would  have  sacrificed  his  life  for  it 
at  any  time ;  and  more  than  once,  by  his  indiscreet  zeal, 


EX.  CXI.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  415 

he  actually  did  place  his  life  and  the  success  of  his  enter- 
prise in  jeopardy. 

It  was  his  great  purpose  to  purify  the  land  from  the 
brutish  abominations  of  the  Aztecs,  by  substituting  the  reli- 
5  gion  of  Jesus.  This  gave  to  his  expedition  the  character 
of  a  crusade.  It  furnished  the  best  apology  for  the  con- 
quest, and  does  more  than  all  other  considerations  towards 
enlisting  our  sympathies  on  the  side  of  the  conquerors. 
But  Pizarro's  ruling  motives,  so  far  as  they  can  be 

10  scanned  by  human  judgment,  were  avarice  and  ambition. 
The  good  missionaries,  indeed,  followed  in  his  train  to 
scatter  the  seeds  of  spiritual  truth,  and  the  Spanish  gov- 
ernment, as  usual,  directed  its  beneficent  legislation  to  the 
conversion  of  their  natives. 

15  But  the  moving  power  with  Pizarro  and  his  followers 
was  the  lust  of  gold.  This  was  the  real  stimulus  to  their 
toil,  —  the  price  of  perfidy,  —  the  true  guerdon  of  their 
victories.  This  gave  a  base  and  mercenary  character  to 
their   enterprise;    and   when  we   contrast   the    ferocious 

20  cupidity  of  the  conquerors  with  the  mild  and  inoffensive 
manners  of  the  conquered,  our  sympathies,  the  sympathies 
even  of  the  Spaniard,  are  necessarily  thrown  into  the 
scale  of  the  Indian. 

But  as  no  picture  is  without  its  lights,  we  must  not,  in 

25  justice  to  Pizarro,  dwell  exclusively  on  the  darker  features 
of  his  portrait.  There  was  no  one  of  her  sons  to  whom 
Spain  was  under  larger  obligations  for  extent  of  empire ; 
for  his  hand  won  for  her  the  richest  of  the  Indian  jewels 
that  once  sparkled  in  her  imperial  diadem. 

30  When  we  contemplate  the  perils  he  braved,  the  suffer- 
ings he  patiently  endured,  the  incredible  obstacles  he  over- 
came, the  magnificent  results  he  effected  with  his  single 
arm,  as  it  were,  unaided  by  the  government,  —  though 
neither  a  good  nor  a  great  man,  in  the   highest  sense  of 

35  the  term,  —  it  is  impossible  not  to  regard  him  as  a  very 
extraordinary  one. 

Nor  can  we  fairly  omit  to  notice,  in  extenuation  of  his 
errors,  the  circumstances  of  his  early  life ;  for,  like  Alma- 
gro,  he  was  the  son  of  sin  and  sorrow,  early  cast  upon  the 

40  world  to  seek  his  fortunes  as  he  might.  In  his  young  and 
tender  age  he  was  to  take  the  impression  of  those  into 
whose  society  he  was  thrown.  And  when  was  it  the  lot 
of  the  needy  outcast  to  fall  into  that  of  the  wise  and  the 
virtuous  ?     His  lot  was  cast  among  the  licentious  inmates 


416  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cm. 

of  a  camp,  the  school  of  rapine,  whose  only  law  was  the 
sword,  and  who  looked  on  the  wretched  Indian  and  his 
heritage  as  their  rightful  spoil. 

Who  does  not  shudder  at  the  thought  of  what  his  own 
5  fate  might  have  been,  trained  in  such  a  school?  The 
amount  of  crime  does  not  necessarily  show  the  criminality 
of  the  agent.  History,  indeed,  is  concerned  with  the 
former,  that  it  may  be  recorded  as  a  warning  to  man- 
kind ;  but  it  is  He  alone  who  knoweth  the  heart,  the 
10  strength  of  the  temptation,  and  the  means  of  resisting  it, 
that  can  determine  the  measure  of  the  guilt. 

W.  H.  Prescott. 


EXERCISE  CXn. 
Virtuous  Love. 

But  happy  they  —  the  happiest  of  their  kind  — 
"Whom  gentler  stars  unite,  and  in  one  fate 
Their  hearts,  their  fortunes,  and  their  beings  blend  ' 
'T  is  not  the  coarser  tie  of  human  laws,  . 
Unnatural  oft,  and  foreign  to  the  mind, 
That  binds  their  peace,  but  harmony  itself, 
Attuning  all  their  passions  into  love ; 
Where  friendship  full  exerts  her  softest  power, 
Perfect  esteem  enlivened  by  desire 
Ineffable,  and  sympathy  of  soul ; 
Thought  meeting  thought,  and  will  preventing  wiU, 
With  boundless  confidence  :  for  nought  but  love 
Can  answer  love,  and  render  bliss  secure. 

Let  him,  ungenerous,  who,  alone  intent 
To  bless  himself,  from  sordid  parents  buys 
The  loathing  virgin,  in  eternal  care. 
Well  merited,  consume  his  nights  and  days : 
Let  barbarous  nations,  whose  inhuman  love 
Is  wild  desire,  fierce  as  the  suns  they  fieel ; 
Let  eastern  tyrants  from  the  light  of  heaven 
Seclude  their  bosom-slaves,  meanly  possessed 
Of  a  mere  lifeless,  violated  form ; 
While  those  whom  love  cements  in  holy  faith, 
And  equal  transport,  free  as  Nature  live, 
Disdaining  fear. 

What  is  the  world  to  them, 
Its  pomp,  its  pleasure,  and  its  nonsense  all, 


EX.  CXII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  417 

Who  m  each  other  clasp  whatever  fair 
High  fancy  forms,  and  lavish  hearts  can  wish  ? 
Something  than  beauty  dearer,  should  they  look 
Or  on  the  mind  or  mind-illumined  face ; 
6     Truth,  goodness,  honor,  harmony,  and  love, 
The  richest  bounty  of  indulgent  Heaven. 

Meantime  a  smiling  offspring  rises  round, 
And  mingles  both  their  graces.  By  degrees, 
The  human  blossom  blows ;  and  every  day, 

10     Soft  as  it  rolls  along,  shows  some  new  charm, 
The  father's  lustre,  and  the  mother's  bloom. 
Then  infant  reason  grows  apace,  and  calls 
For  the  kind  hand  of  an  assiduous  care. 

Delightful  task !  to  rear  the  tender  thought, 

15     To  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot. 

To  pour  the  fresh  instruction  o'er  the  mind. 
To  breathe  the  enlivening  spirit,  and  to  fix 
The  generous  purpose  in  the  glowing  breast ! 
0,  speak  the  joy !  ye  whom  the  sudden  tear 

20     Surprises  often,  while  you  look  around. 

And  nothing  strikes  your  eye  but  sights  of  bliss, 
All  various  Nature  pressing  on  the  heart : 
An  elegant  sufficiency,  content, 
Retirement,  rural  quiet,  friendship,  books, 

25     Ease  and  alternate  labor,  useful  life, 

Progressive  virtue,  and  approving  Heaven ! 

These  are  the  matchless  joys  of  virtuous  love, 
And  thus  their  moments  fly.  The  seasons  thus, 
As  ceaseless  round  a  jarring  world  they  roll, 

30     Still  find  them  happy ;  and  consenting  Spring 
Sheds  her  own  rosy  garland  on  their  heads  : 
Till  evening  comes  at  last,  serene  and  mild ; 
When,  after  the  long  vernal  day  of  life. 
Enamored  more,  as  more  remembrance  swells 

35     With  many  a  proof  of  recollected  love, 
Together  down  they  sink  in  social  sleep, 
Together  freed,  their  gentle  spirits  fly 
To  scenes  where  love  and  bliss  immortal  reign. 

Thomson. 


418  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cxin. 

EXERCISE  CXIII. 

Extract  from  the  Preface  of  a  Work  entitled  "  The  Wis- 
dom and  Geniiis  of  Shakspeare." 

The  lucid  pages  of  Shakspeare  have  been  justly  charac- 
terized "  the  richest,  the  purest,  the  fairest,  which  genius 
uninspired  ever  laid  open."  His  morals  are  numerous  and 
of  an  exalted  character;    and  more  moral  knowledge  is 

5  contained  in  a  few  lines,  or  a  sentence  of  our  author,  than 
is  to  be  found  in  a  whole  chapter  of  those  works  which 
treat  expressly  of  moral  science.  There  is  one  thing 
worthy  of  special  observation  in  his  morals,  which  presents 
his  character  in  a  very  interesting  light ;    I  refer  to  the 

10  strong  tincture  which  they  have  of  divine  truth,  affording 
evidence  of  his  mind  having  been  deeply  imbued  with  the 
pure  morality  of  the  Gospel. 

This  highly  interesting  feature  of  his  morals  I  have 
pointed  out  in  many  instances,  by  references  to  particular 

15  passages  of  scripture.  Although  the  first  part  of  the 
work  is  designated  Moral  Philosophy,  the  reader  must  not 
infer  from  thence  that  there  are  no  morals  in  the  other 
sections  :  the  truth  is,  morals  pervade  the  whole  work,  but 
many  of  them  are  so  interwoven  with  the  characters,  nature, 

20  and  the  passions,  &c.,  as  not  to  admit  of  being  separated. 

Our  author's   paintings  of  the   passions   are    not  less 

deserving  of  our  admiration  than  his  moral  wisdom  and 

delineations  of  character.     He  is  the  great  master  of  the 

human  heart,  and  depicts  in  an  inimitable  manner  all  the 

25  feelings  of  humanity,  from  the  almost  imperceptible  emo- 
tions to  the  most  tempestuous  passions  that  agitate  the 
breast  of  man.  As  Schlegel  justly  observes,  "  he  lays  open 
to  us  in  a  single  word  a  whole  series  of  preceding  condi- 
tions." 

30  In  that  part  of  the  work  which  respects  Nature,  I  have 
exhibited  to  the  reader  those  exquisitely  beautiful  natural 
images  which  abound  throughout  our  author's  writings, 
and  which  claim  the  admiration  of  every  cultivated  mind. 
This  excellence  has  been  often  alluded  to,  and   is  thus 

35  beautifully  expressed  by  one  who  was  capable  of  appreciat- 
ing it  — 

"  He  was  familiar  with  all  beautiful  forms  and  images, 
with  all  that  is  sweet  or  majestic  in  the  simple  aspects  of 
nature,  —  of  that  indestructible  love  of  flowers  and  odors, 

40  and  dews  and  clear  waters,  and  soft  airs  and  sounds,  and 


EX.  CXIII.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  419 

bright  skies  and  woodland  solitudes,  and  moonlight  bowers, 
which  are  the  material  elements  of  poetry,  —  and  with 
that  fine  sense  of  their  undefinable  relation  to  mental 
emotion  which  is  its  essence  and  vivifying  soul,  and  which, 
5  in  the  midst  of  his  most  busy  and  atrocious  scenes,  falls 
like  gleams  of  sunshine  on  rocks  and  ruins,  contrasting 
with  all  that  is  rugged  and  repulsive,  and  reminding  us  of 
the  existence  of  purer  and  brighter  elements." 

Take  also  the  sentiments  of  the  following  writers  who 

10  speak  in  accordance  with  this  work :  —  "To  instruct  by 
delighting  is  a  power  seldom  enjoyed  by  man,  and  still 
seldomer  exercised.  It  is  in  this  respect  that  Homer  may 
be  called  the  second  of  men,  and  Shakspeare  the  first. 
The  wisdom  of  the  Greek  was  not  so  universal  as  that  of 

15  the  Briton,  nor  his  genius  so  omnipotent  in  setting  it  forth 
attractively.  From  the  several  works  of  the  latter,  a  single 
work  might  be  compiled  little  less  worthy  of  divine  sanction 
than  any  other  extant,  and  by  the  beauty  of  its  nature  far 
more  secure  of  human  attention. 

20  "  But  Shakspeare  has  done  so  much  in  this  way  —  so 
nearly  all  that  is  sufficient,  —  he  has  made  the  laws  of  the 
decalogue,  and  all  their  corollaries,  so  familiar,  —  he  has 
exhibited  the  passions  and  propensities,  the  feelings  and 
emotions,  incident  to  humanity,  so  freely,  and,  as  we  might 

*2o  say,  graphically,  that  another  such  artist  would  be  super- 
fluous. Nature  might  create  a  second  Shakspeare,  but  it 
would  be  bad  economy.  What  the  first  has  left  undone, 
may  be  completed  by  a  much  less  expense  of  Promethean 
fire  than  would  go  to  the  creation  of  a  second. 

30  "  We  are  therefore  not  to  look  for  a  similar  being,  at  least 
until  we  acquire  new  attributes,  or  are  under  a  new  moral 
dispensation.  Spirits  of  an  inferior  order,  —  a  Milton,  a 
Pope,  or  a  Cowper,  —  are  potent  enough  to  disseminate 
the  remaining  or  minor  truths  of  natural  morality  amongst 

35  the  people ;  or  rather,  to  repeat,  illustrate,  and  impress 
them  on  our  hearts  and  memories. 

"  Writers  of  this  class,  whom  we  may  call  the  lay-minis- 
ters of  the  deity,  to  teach  from  the  press  instead  of  the 
pulpit,    in    the    closet  instead   of   the    church,   we   may 

40  expect ;  and  with  them  should  be  satisfied.  Though  we 
cannot  reasonably  hope  for  another  high  prophet  of  profane 
inspiration  to  recommunicate  to  us  the  lessons  of  divine 
wisdom  which  are  already  to  be  found  in  Shakspeare,  it  is 
no  presumption  to  hope  that  the  spirit  of  illumination  will 


420  Parker's  exercises  m  [ex.  cxm. 

descend  upon  humbler  poets,  and  make  them  our  secular 
guides  in  morality." 

The  same  sentiments,  with  respect  to  Shakspeare's  writ- 
ings, are  thus  expressed  by  another  author: — "It  is  quite 
5  impossible  to  estimate  the  benefit  which  this  country  has 
received  from  the  eternal  productions  of  Shakspeare. 
Their  influence  has  been  gradual,  but  prodigious,  —  oper- 
ating at  first  on  the  loftier  intellects,  but  becoming  in  time 
diffused  over  all,  spreading  wisdom  and  charity  amongst 

10  us.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  one  person  of  any  considerable 
rate  of  mind  who  does  not  owe  something  to  this  matchless 
poet. 

"  He  is  the  teacher  of  all  good,  —  pity,  generosity,  true 
courage,  love.     His  works  alone  (leaving  mere  science  out 

15  of  the  question)  contain,  probably,  more  actual  wisdom  than 
the  whole  body  of  English  learning.  He  is  the  text  for 
the  moralist  and  the  philosopher.  His  bright  wit  is  cut 
out  '  into  little  stars ; '  his  solid  masses  of  knowledge  are 
meted  out  in  morsels  and  proverbs ;   and  thus  distributed, 

20  there  is  scarcely  a  corner  which  he  does  not  illuminate,  or 
a  cottage  which  he  does  not  enrich.  His  bounty  is  like  the 
sea,  which,  though  often  unacknowledged,  is  everywhere 
felt  —  on  mountains  and  plains,  and  distant  places,  carry- 
ing its  cloudy  freshness  through  the  air,  making  glorious 

25  the  heavens,  and  spreading  verdure  on  the  earth  beneath." 

It  is  with  infinite  satisfaction  that  I  am  borne  out  in  my 

opinion  of  the  nature  of  this  work  by  a  similar  remark  of 

Coleridge.     "  I  greatly  dislike  beauties  and  selections  in 

general ;   but  as  proof  positive  of  his  unrivalled  excellence, 

30  I  should  like  to  try  Shakspeare  by  this  criterion.  Make 
out  your  amplest  catalogue  of  all  the  human  faculties,  as 
reason,  or  the  moral  law,  the  will,  the  feeling  of  the  co- 
incidence of  the  two  called  the  conscience,  the  under- 
standing, or  prudence,  wit,  fancy,  imagination,  judgment, 

35  —  and  then  of  the  objects  on  which  these  are  to  be  em- 
ployed, as  the  beauties,  the  terrors,  and  the  seeming  ca- 
prices, of  nature,  the  realities  and  the  capabilities  —  that  is, 
the  actual  and  the  ideal  —  of  the  human  mind,  conceived 
as  an  individual  or  as  a  social  being,  as  in  innocence  or  in 

40  guilt,  in  a  play-paradise  or  in  a  war-field  of  temptation,  — 
and  then  compare  with  Shakspeare,  under  each  of  these 
heads,  all  or  any  of  the  writers  in  prose  and  verse  that 
have  ever  lived.     Who  that  is  competent  to  judge  doubts, 
the  result  ?  "  —  Rev.  Thomas  Price. 


EX.  exivj  RHETORICAL  READINa.  421 

EXERCISE  CXTV. 
The  Chameleon. 

Oft  has  it  been  my  lot  to  mark 

A  proud,  conceited,  talking  spark 

Returning  from  his  finished  tour, 

Grown  ten  times  perter  than  before : 
6         Whatever  word  you  chance  to  drop, 

The  travelled  fool  your  mouth  will  stop  — 

"  Sir,  if  my  judgment  you  '11  allow  — 

I  've  seen  —  and  sure  I  ought  to  know." — 

So  begs  you  'd  pay  a  due  submission, 
10         And  acquiesce  in  his  decision. 

Two  travellers  of  such  a  cast, 

As  o'er  Arabia's  wilds  they  passed. 

And  on  their  way,  in  friendly  chat, 

Now  talked  of  this,  and  then  of  that, 
15         Discoursed  a  while,  'mongst  other  matter, 

Of  the  chameleon's  form  and  nature. 

"A  stranger  animal,"  cries  one, 

"  Sure  never  lived  beneath  the  sun : 

A  lizard's  body,  lean  and  long, 
20         A  fish's  head,  a  serpent's  tongue, 

Its  tooth  with  triple  claw  disjoined ; 

And  what  a  length  of  tail  behind ! 

How  slow  its  pace !   and  then  its  hue  — 

Who  ever  saw  so  fine  a  blue  !  " 
25  "  Hold,  there  !  "  the  other  quick  replies 

"  'T  is  green  ;    I  saw  it  with  these  eyes, 

As  late  with  open  mouth  it  lay. 

And  warmed  it  in  the  sunny  ray ; 

Stretched  at  its  ease  the  beast  I  viewed, 
30         And  saw  it  eat  the  air  for  food." 

"  I  've  seen  it,  sir,  as  well  as  you, 

And  must  again  affirm  it  blue. 

At  leisure  I  the  beast  surveyed, 

Extended  in  the  cooling  shade." 
35  "  'T  is  green,  't  is  green,  sir,  I  assure  ye."  — 

"  Green  ?  "  cries  the  other,  in  a  fury ; 

"  Why,  sir,  d'  ye  think  I  've  lost  my  eyes  ?  "  — 

"  'Twere  no  great  loss,"  the  friend  replies ; 

"  For  if  they  always  use  you  thus, 
40        You  '11  find  them  but  of  little  use." 
36 


422  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  crv. 

So  high  at  last  the  contest  rose, 

From  words  they  almost  came  to  blows  ; 

When  luckily  came  by  a  third  : 

To  him  the  question  they  referred ; 
5         And  begged  he  'd  tell  them,  if  he  knew, 

Whether  the  thing  was  green  or  blue. 

"  Sirs,"  cries  the  umpire,  "  cease  your  pother, 

The  creature  's  neither  one  nor  t'  other. 

I  caught  the  animal  last  night, 
10         And  viewed  it  o'er  by  candle-light : 

I  marked  it  well  —  't  was  black  as  jet  — 

You  stare  —  but,  sirs,  I  've  got  it  yet, 

And  can  produce  it."  —  "  Pray,  sir,  do  ; 

I  '11  lay  my  life  the  thing  is  blue."  — 
15         "And  I  '11  be  sworn,  that  when  you  've  seen 

The  reptile,  you  '11  pronounce  him  green."  — 

"  Well  then,  at  once  to  end  the  doubt," 

Keplies  the  man,  "  I  '11  turn  him  out ; 

And  when  before  your  eyes  I  've  set  him, 
20         If  you  don't  find  him  black,  I  '11  eat  him," 

He  said :  then  full  before  their  sight 

Produced  the  beast ;  and  lo  !  't  was  white. 
Both  stared ;  the  man  looked  wondrous  wise 

"  My  children,"  the  chameleon  cries, 
25         (Then  first  the  creature  found  a  tongue,) 

"  You  all  are  right,  and  all  are  wrong. 

When  next  you  talk  of  what  you  view. 

Think  others  see  as  well  as  you. 

Nor  wonder  if  you  find  that  none 
30         Prefers  your  eyesight  to  his  own."       Merrick, 


EXERCISE  CXV. 

Dominie  Sampson's  Encounter  with  Meg  Merrilies. 

Upon  the  next  day  at  breakfast,  however,  the  Dominie 
did  not  make  his  appearance.  He  had  walked  out,  a  ser- 
vant said,  early  in  the  morning.  It  was  so  common  for 
him  to  forget  his  meals  that  his  absence  never  deranged 
35  the  family.  The  housekeeper,  a  decent  old-fashioned  Pres- 
byterian matron,  having,  as  such,  the  highest  respect  for 
Sampson's  theological  acquisitions,  had  it  in  charge  upon 
these  occasions  to  take  care  that  he  was  no  sufferer  by  his 


EX.  CXV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  423 

absence  of  mind,  and  therefore  usually  waylaid  him  upon 
his  return,  to  remind  him  of  his  sublunary  wants,  and  to 
minister  for  their  relief.  It  seldom,  however,  happened 
that  he  was  absent  from  two  meals  together,  as  was  the 
5  case  in  the  present  instance.  We  must  explain  the  cause 
of  this  unusual  occurrence. 

The  conversation  which  Mr.  Pleydell  had  held  with 
Mannering  upon  the  subject  of  the  loss  of  Harry  Bertram 
had  awakened  all  the  painful  sensations  which  that  event 

10  had  inflicted  upon  Sampson.  The  affectionate  heart  of  the 
poor  dominie  had  always  reproached  him,  that  his  negli- 
gence in  leaving  the  child  in  the  care  of  Frank  Kennedy 
had  been  the  proximate  cause  of  the  murder  of  the  one, 
the  loss  of  the  other,  the  death  of  Mrs.  Bertram,  and  the 

15  ruin  of  the  family  of  his  patron.  It  was  a  subject  which 
he  never  spoke  upon,  if  indeed  his  mode  of  conversation 
could  be  called  speaking  at  any  time  ;  but  which  was  often 
present  to  his  imagination. 

The  sort  of  hope  so  strongly  affirmed  and  asserted  in 

20  Mrs.  Bertram's  last  settlement  had  excited  a  corresponding 
feeling  in  the  dominie's  bosom,  which  was  exasperated  into 
a  sort  of  sickening  anxiety  by  the  discredit  with  which 
Pleydell  had  treated  it.  "Assuredly,"  thought  Sampson 
to  himself,  "he  is  a  man  of  erudition,  and  well  skilled  in 

25  the  weighty  matters  of  the  law ;  but  he  is  also  a  man  of 
humorous  levity  and  inconstancy  of  speech  ;  and  wherefore 
should  he  pronounce  ex  cathedra^  as  it  were,  on  the  hope 
expressed  by  worthy  Madam  Margaret  Bertram  of  Single- 
side  ? " 

30  All  this,  I  say,  the  dominie  thought  to  himself;  for  had 
he  uttered  half  the  sentence  his  jaws  would  have  ached 
for  a  month  under  the  unusual  fatigue  of  such  a  continued 
exertion.  The  result  of  these  cogitations  was  a  resolution 
to  go  and  visit  the  scene  of  the  tragedy  at  Warroch  Point, 

35  where  he  had  not  been  for  many  years  —  not,  indeed, 
since  the  fatal  accident  had  happened.  The  walk  was  a 
long  one,  for  the  Point  of  Warroch  lay  on  the  further  side 
of  the  Ellangowan  property,  which  was  interposed  between 
it  and  Woodbourne.     Besides,  the  dominie  went  astray 

40  more  than  once,  and  met  with  brooks  swollen  into  torrents 
by  the  melting  of  the  snow,  where  he,  honest  man,  had 
only  the  summer  recollection  of  little  trickling  rills. 

At  length,  however,  he  reached  the  woods  which  he  had 
made  the  object  of  his  walk,  and  traversed  them  with  care, 


424  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cxv. 

muddling  his  disturbed  brains  with  vague  efforts  to  recall 
every  circumstance  of  the  catastrophe.  It  will  readily  be 
supposed  that  the  influence  of  local  situation  and  associa- 
tion was  inadequate  to  produce  conclusions  different  from 
5  those  which  he  had  formed  under  the  immediate  pressure 
of  the  occurrences  themselves.  With  "  many  a  weary 
sigh,  therefore,  and  many  a  groan,"  the  poor  dominie  re- 
turned from  his  hopeless  pilgrimage,  and  wearily  plodded 
his  way  towards  Woodbourne,  debating  at  times  in  his 

10  altered  mind  a  question  which  was  forced  upon  him  by 
the  cravings  of  an  appetite  rather  of  the  keenest,  namely, 
whether  he  had  breakfasted  that  morning  or  no. 

It  was  in  this  twilight  humor,  —  now  thinking  of  the 
loss  of  the  child,  then  involuntarily  compelled  to  meditate 

15  upon  the  somewhat  incongruous  subject  of  hung-beef,  rolls 
and  butter,  —  that  his  route,  which  was  different  from  that 
which  he  had  taken  in  the  morning,  conducted  him  past 
the  small  ruined  tower,  or  rather  vestige  of  a  tower,  called 
by  the  country  people  the  Kaim  of  Derncleugh. 

20  The  reader  may  recollect  the  description  of  this  ruin  as 
the  vault  in  which  young  Bertram,  under  the  auspices  of 
Meg  Merrilies,  witnessed  the  death  of  Hatteraick's  lieu- 
tenant. The  tradition  of  the  country  added  ghostly  ter- 
rors to  the  natural  awe  inspired  by  the  situation  of  this 

25  place,  which  terrors  the  gypsies  who  so  long  inhabited  the 
vicinity  had  probably  invented,  or  at  least  propagated,  for 
their  own  advantage. 

^Tr  *rr  W  w  'rr  ^ 

The  lights,  often  seen  around  the  tower  when  used  as 
the  rendezvous  of  the  lawless  characters  by  whom  it  was 

30  occasionally  frequented,  were  accounted  for,  under  author- 
ity of  these  tales  of  witchery,  in  a  manner  at  once  con 
venient  for  the  private  parties  concerned,  and  satisfactory 
to  the  public. 

Now  it  must  be  confessed  that  our  friend   Sampson, 

35  although  a  profound  scholar  and  mathematician,  had  not 
travelled  so  far  in  philosophy  as  to  doubt  the  reality  of 
witchcraft  or  apparitions.  Born  indeed  at  a  time  when  a 
doubt  in  the  existence  of  witches  was  interpreted  to  be  a 
justification   of  their  infernal   practices,  a  belief  of  such 

40  legends  had  been  impressed  upon  him  as  an  article  indi- 
visible from  his  religious  faith,  and  perhaps  it  would  have 
been  equally  difficult  to  have  induced  him  to  doubt  the 
one  as  the  other.     With  these  feelings,  and  in  a  thick 


EX.  CXV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  425 

misty  day,  which  was  already  drawing  to  its  close,  Domi- 
nie Sampson  did  not  pass  the  Kaim  of  Derncleugh  without 
some  feelings  of  tacit  horror. 

What,  then,  was  his  astonishment  when,  on  passing  the 
5  door  —  that  door  which  was  supposed  to  have  been  placed 
there  by  one  of  the  latter  lairds  of  Ellangowan  to  prevent 
presumptuous  strangers  from  incurring  the  dangers  of  the 
haunted  vault  —  that  very  door  supposed  to  be  always 
locked,  and  the  key  of  which  was  popularly  said  to  be 

10  deposited  with  the  presbytery  —  that  very  door  opened 
suddenly,  and  the  figure  of  Meg  Merrilies,  well  known, 
though  not  seen  for  many  a  revolving  year,  was  placed  at 
once  before  the  eyes  of  the  startled  dominie. 

She  stood  immediately  before  him  in  the  foot-path,  con- 

15  fronting  him  so  absolutely  that  he  could  not  avoid  her 
except  by  fairly  turning  back,  which  his  manhood  prevent- 
ed him  from  thinking  of.  "  I  kenned  ye  wad  be  here," 
she  said,  with  her  harsh  and  hollow  voice,  "  I  ken  wha 
ye  seek ;  but  ye  maun  do  my  bidding," 

20  *»  Get  thee  behind  me  !  "  said  the  alarmed  dominie  — 
"Avoid  ye  !  —  Conjuro  te^  scelestissiina  —  nequissima  — 
spurcissima  —  iniquissima  —  atque  miserrhna  —  conjuro 
te !  1 1 "  Meg  stood  her  ground  against  this  tremen- 
dous volley  of  superlatives,  which   Sampson  hawked  up 

25  from  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  and  hurled  at  her  in  thunder. 
"  Is  the  carl  daft,"  she  said,  "  wi'  his  glamor  ?  " 

'^Conjuro,''  continued  the  dominie,  ^^  adjuro,  contestor, 

atque  viriliter  impero  tibi  I "     "  What,  in  the  name 

of  Sathan,  are  ye  feared  for,  wi'  your  French  gibberish, 

30  that  would  make  a  dog  sick  ?  Listen,  ye  stickit  stibler,  to 
what  I  tell  ye,  or  ye  sail  rue  it  whiles  there  's  a  limb  o'  ye 
hings  to  anither !  Tell  Colonel  Mannering  that  I  ken  he  's 
seeking  me.  He  kens,  and  I  ken,  that  the  blood  will  be 
wiped  out,  and  the  lost  will  be  found, 

35  And  Bertram's  right  and  Bertram's  might 

Shall  meet  on  Ellangowan  height. 

Hae,  there  's  a  letter  to  him  ;  I  was  gaun  to  send  it  in 
another  way.  I  canna  write  mysell ;  but  1  hae  them  that 
will  baith  write  and  read,  and  ride  and  rin  for  me.  Tell 
40  him  the  time  's  coming  now,  and  the  weird  's  dree'd  and 
the  wheel 's  turning.  Bid  him  look  at  the  stars  as  he  has 
looked  at  them  before  ;  will  ye  mind  a'  this  ?" 

"Assuredly,"  said  the  dominie,  "  I  am  dubious  —  for, 
26* 


426  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cxv. 

woman,  I  am  perturbed  at  thy  words,  and  my  flesh  quakes 
to  hear  thee."  —  "They'll  do  you  nae  ill,  though,  and 
maybe  muckle  gude."  —  "Avoid  ye!  I  desire  nae  good 
that  comes  by  unlawfu'  means." 
5  "  Fule-body  that  thou  art !  "  said  Meg,  stepping  up  to 
him  with  a  frown  of  indignation  that  made  her  dark  eyes 
flash  like  lamps  from  under  her  bent  brows  —  "  Fule-body  1 
if  I  meant  ye  wrang,  could  na  I  clod  ye  ower  that  craig, 
and  wad  man  ken  how  ye  cam  by  your  end  mair  than 

10  Frank  Kennedy  ?     Hear  ye  that,  ye  worricow?  " 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that  is  good,"  said  the  dominie,  re- 
coiling and  pointing  his  long  pewter-headed  walking-cane 
like  a  javelin  at  the  supposed  sorceress,  "  in  the  name  of 
all  that  is  good,  bide  off  hands !     I  will  not  be  handled  — 

15  woman,  stand  off  upon  thine  own  proper  peril !  —  desist,  1 
say  —  I  am  strong  —  lo,  I  will  resist!  "  Here  his  speech 
was  cut  short,  for  Meg,  armed  with  supernatural  strength, 
(as  the  dominie  asserted,)  broke  in  upon  his  guard,  put  by 
a  thrust  which  he  made  at  her  with  his  cane,  and  lifted 

20  him  into  the  vault,  "  as  easily,"  said  he,  "  as  I  could  sway 
a  Kitchen's  atlas." 

"Sit  doun  there,"  she  said,  pushing  the  half-throttled 
preacher  with  some  violence  against  a  broken  chair,  "  sit 
doun  there,  and  gather  your  wind  and  your  senses,  ye 

25  black  barrow-tram  o'  the  kirk  that  ye  are  —  are  ye  fou  or 
fasting  ?  " 

"  Fasting  from  all  but  sin,"  answered  the  dominie,  who, 
recovering  his  voice,  and  finding  his  exorcisms  only  served 
to  exasperate  the  intractable  sorceress,  thought  it  best  to 

30  affect  complaisance  and  submission,  inwardly  conning  over, 
however,  the  wholesome  conjurations  which  he  durst  no 
longer  utter  aloud.  But  as  the  dominie's  brain  was  by  no 
means  equal  to  carry  on  two  trains  of  ideas  at  the  same 
time,  a  word  or  two  of  his  mental  exercise  sometimes  es- 

35  caped,  and  mingled  with  his  uttered  speech  in  a  manner 
ludicrous  enough,  especially  as  the  poor  man  shrunk  him- 
self together  after  every  escape  of  the  kind,  from  terror  of 
the  effect  it  might  produce  upon  the  irritable  feelings  of 
the  witch. 

40  Meg,  in  the  mean  while,  went  to  a  great  black  cauldron 
that  was  boiling  on  a  fire  on  the  floor,  and  lifting  the  lid, 
an  odor  was  diffused  through  the  vault,  which,  if  the  vapors 
of  a  witch's  cauldron  could  in  aught  be  trusted,  promised 
better  things  than  the  hell-broth  which  such  vessels  are 


EX.  CXV.]  RHETORICAL   READING.  427 

usually  supposed  to  contain.  It  was  in  fact  the  savor  of  a 
goodly  stew,  composed  of  fowls,  hares,  partridges,  and 
moor-game,  boiled  in  a  large  mess  with  potatoes,  onions 
and  leeks,  and,  from  the  size  of  the  cauldron,  appeared  to 
5  be  prepared  for  half  a  dozen  of  people  at  least.  "  So  ye 
hae  eat  naething  a'  day  ?  "  said  Meg,  heaving  a  large  por- 
tion of  this  mess  into  a  brown  dish,  and  strewing  it  savor- 
ily  with  salt  and  pepper. 

"Naething,"  answered  the  dominie,  —  ^^scelestissima!  — 

10  that  is,  gudewife."  —  "  Hae,  then,"  said  she,  placing  the  dish 
before  him;  "  there 's  what  will  warm  your  heart."  —  "I 
do  not  hunger  —  malefica  —  that  is  to  say,  Mrs.  Merrilies ; " 
for  he  said  unto  himself,  "  the  savor  is  sweet,  but  it  hath 
been  cooked  by  a  Canidia  or  an  Ericthoe." 

15  "  If  ye  dinna  eat  instantly,  and  put  some  saul  in  ye,  by  the 
bread  and  the  salt,  I  '11  put  it  doun  your  throat  wi'  the  cutty 
spoon,  scauding  as  it  is,  and  whether  ye  will  or  no.  Gape, 
sinner,  and  swallow  !  "  Sampson,  afraid  of  eye  of  newt, 
and  toe  of  frog,  tiger's  chaudrons,  and  so  forth,  had  deter- 

20  mined  not  to  venture ;    but  the  smell  of  the  stew  was  fast 

melting  his  obstinacy,  which  flowed  from  his  chops  as  it 

were  in  streams  of  water,  and  the  witch's  threats  decided 

him  to  feed.     Hunger  and  fear  are  excellent  casuists. 

"  Saul,"  said  Hunger, "  feasted  with  the  witch  of  Endor." 

25  "  And,"  quoth  Fear,  "  the  salt  which  she  sprinkled  upon 
the  food  showeth  plainly  it  is  not  a  necromantic  banquet, 
in  which  that  seasoning  never  occurs." — "And  besides," 
says  Hunger,  after  the  first  spoonful,  "it  is  savory  and 
refreshing  viands." 

30  "  So  ye  like  the  meat  ?  "  said  the  hostess.  —  "  Yea," 
answered  the  dominie,  "  and  I  give  thee  thanks  —  scelera- 
tissima. !  —  which  means  Mrs.  Margaret."  —  "  Aweel,  eat 
your  fill ;  but  an  ye  kenn'd  how  it  was  gotten,  ye  maybe 
wadna  like  it  sae  weel."  —  Sampson's  spoon  dropped,  in  the 

35  act  of  conveying  its  load  to  his  mouth.  —  "  There  'e  been 
mony  a  moonlight  watch  to  bring  a'  that  trade  thegither; 
the  folk  that  are  to  eat  that  dinner  thought  little  o'  your 
game-laws." 

"Is  that  all?"  thought  Sampson,  resuming  his  spoon, 

40  and  shovelling  away  manfully  ;  "  I  will  not  lack  my  food 
upon  that  argument."  —  "Now  ye  maun  tak  a  dram." 
"  I  will,"  quoth  Sampson  —  "  conjuro  te  —  that  is,  I  thank 
you  heartily  ;  "  for,  he  thought  to  himself,  in  for  a  penny 
in  for  a  pound,  and  he  fairly  drank  the  witch's  health  in  a 


428  Parker's  exercises  in  [ex.  cxv. 

cupful  of  brandy.  When  he  had  put  this  cope-stone  upon 
Meg's  good  cheer,  he  felt,  as  he  said,  "  mightily  elevated, 
and  afraid  of  no  evil  which  could  befall  unto  him." 

"  Will  ye  remember  my  errand  now  ?  "  said  Meg  Merri- 
5  lies ;  "  I  ken  by  the  cast  o'  your  e'e  that  ye  're  anither  man 
than  when  you  cam  in."  —  "I  will,  Mrs.  Margaret,"  re- 
peated Sampson,  stoutly ;  "  I  will  deliver  unto  him  the 
sealed  yepistle,  and  will  add  what  you  please  to  send  by 
word  of  mouth." 
10  "  Then  I  '11  make  it  short,"  says  Meg.  "  Tell  him  to 
look  at  the  stars  without  fail  this  night,  and  to  do  what  I 
desire  him  in  that  letter,  as  he  would  wish 

That  Bertram's  right  and  Bertram's  might 
Should  meet  on  Ellangowan  height. 

15  I  have  seen  him  twice  when  he  saw  na  me ;  I  ken  when 

he  was  in  this  country  first,  and  1  ken  what 's  brought  him 
back  again.  Up,  and  to  the  gate  !  ye  're  ower  lang  here ; 
follow  me." 

Sampson  followed  the  sybil  accordingly,  who  guided  him 

20  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  through  the  woods,  by  a  shorter 
cut  than  he  could  have  found  for  himself;  they  then  en- 
tered upon  the  common,  Meg  still  marching  before  him  at 
a  great  pace,  until  she  gained  the  top  of  a  small  hillock 
which  overhung  the  road. 

25  "  Here,"  she  said,  "  stand  still  here.  Look  how  the  set- 
ting sun  breaks  through  yon  cloud  that 's  been  darkening 
the  lift  a'  day.  See  where  the  first  stream  o'  light  fa's ; 
it 's  upon  Donagild's  round  tower  —  the  auldest  tower  in 
the  castle  of  Ellangowan,  —  that 's  no  for  naething.     See 

30  as  it 's  glooming  to  seaward  abune  yon  sloop  in  the  bay,  — 
that 's  no  for  naething  neither. 

"  Here  I  stood,  on  this  very  spot,"  said  she,  drawing 
herself  up  so  as  not  to  lose  one  hair-breadth  of  her  uncom- 
mon height,  and  stretching  out  her  long  sinewy  arm  and 

35  clenched  hand  —  "  here  I  stood,  when  I  tauld  the  last  Laird 
of  Ellangowan  what  was  coming  on  his  house ;  and  did 
that  fa'  to  the  ground  ?  —  na !  it  hit  even  ower  sair !  And 
here,  where  I  brake  the  wand  of  peace  ower  him  —  here  I 
stand  again,  to  bid  God  bless  and  prosper  the  just  heir  of 

40  Ellangowan,  that  will  sune  be  brought  to  his  ain ;  and  the 
best  laird  he  shall  be  that  Ellangowan  has  seen  for  three 
hundred  years.  I  '11  no  live  to  see  it,  maybe  ;  but  there 
will  be  mony  a  blithe  e'e  see  it,  though  mfne  be  closed. 


EX    CXV.J  RHETORICAL    READING.  429 

And  now,  Abel  Sampson,  as  ever  ye  lo'ed  the  house  of 
EUangovvan,  away  wi'  my  message  to  the  English  colonel, 
as  if  life  and  death  were  upon  your  haste ! " 

So  saying,  she  turned  suddenly  from  the  amazed  domi- 
5  nie,  and  regained  with  swift  and  long  strides  the  sheher 
of  the  wood  from  which  she  had  issued  at  the  point  where 
it  most  encroached  upon  the  common.  Sampson  gazed 
after  her  for  a  moment  in  utter  astonishment,  and  then 
obeyed  her  directions,  hurrying  to  Woodbourne  at  a  pace 

10  very  unusual  for  him,  exclaiming  three  times,  "  Prodigious! 
prodigious  !  pro-di-gi-ous !  " 

As  Mr.  Sampson  crossed  the  hall  with  a  bewildered 
look,  the  good  housekeeper,  who  was  on  the  watch  for  his 
return,  sallied  forth  upon  him :  —  "What 's  this  o't  now, 

15  Mr.  Sampson  ?  —  this  is  waur  than  ever ;  ye  '11  really  do 
yoursell  some  injury  wi'  these  lang  fasts,  —  naething  sae 
hurtful  to  the  stomach,  Mr.  Sampson.  If  you  would  but 
put  some  peppermint  draps  in  your  pocket,  or  let  Barnes  cut 
you  a  sandwich." 

20  "  Avoid  thee  !  "  quoth  the  dominie,  his  mind  running 
still  upon  his  interview  with  Meg  Merrilies,  and  making 
for  the  dining-parlor.  —  "  Na,  ye  need  na  gang  in  there ; 
the  cloth  's  been  removed  an  hour  ago,  and  the  colonel 's  at 
his  wine ;  but  just  step  into  my  room  ;  I  have  a  nice  steak 

25  that  the  cook  will  do  in  a  moment."  —  "Exorciso  te  I "  said 
Sampson,  —  "  that  is,  I  have  dined." 

"  Dined  !  it 's  impossible  I  Wha  can  ye  hae  dined  wi', 
you  that  gangs  out  nae  gate  ? "  —  "  With  Beelzebub,  I  be- 
lieve," said  the  minister.  —  "  Na,  then  he  's  bewitched  for 

30  certain,"  said  the  housekeeper,  letting  go  her  hold  ;  "  he  's 
bewitched  or  he  's  daft,  and  ony  way  the  colonel  maun 
just  guide  him  his  ain  gate.  Waes  ine  !  Hech,  sirs  !  It 's 
a  sair  thing  to  see  learning  bring  foil?  to  this  !  "  and  with 
this  compassionate  ejaculation,  she  retreated  into  her  own 

35  premises. 

The  object  of  her  commiseration  had  by  this  time  en- 
tered the  dining-parlor,  where  his  appearance  gave  great 
surprise.  He  was  mud  up  to  the  shoulders,  and  the  natural 
paleness  of  his  hue  was  twice  as  cadaverous  as  usual, 

40  through  terror,  fatigue,  and  perturbation  of  mind.  "  What 
on  earth  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Mr.  Sampson?"  said 
Mannering,  who  observed  Miss  Bertram  looked  much 
alarmed  for  her  simple  but  attached  friend. 

" Ezorciso  —  "  said  the  dominie.  —  " How,  sir ? "  —  "I 


430  PARKER'S   EXERCISES   IN  [eX.  CXV. 

crave  pardon,  honorable  sir !  but  my  wits "  —  "  Are 

gone  a  wool-gathering,  I  think.  Pray,  Mr.  Sampson,  col- 
lect yourself,  and  let  me  know  the  meaning  of  all  this." 
Sampson  was  about  to  reply;  but  finding  his  Latin 
5  formula  of  exorcism  still  came  most  readily  to  his  tongue, 
he  prudently  desisted  from  the  attempt,  and  put  the  scrap 
of  paper  which  he  had  received  from  the  gypsy  into  Man- 
nering's  hand,  who  broke  the  seal  and  read  it  with  surprise. 
"  This  seems  to  be  some  iest,"  he  said,  "  and  a  very  dull 

10  one." 

"  It  came  from  no  jesting  person,"  said  Mr.  Sampson.  — 
"  From  whom,  then,  did  it  come  ? "  —  The  dominie,  who 
often  displayed  some  delicacy  of  recollection  in  cases  where 
Miss  Bertram  had  an  interest,  recollected  the  painful  cir- 

15  cumstances  connected  with  Meg  Merrilies,  looked  at  the 
young  ladies,  and  remained  silent.  "  We  will  join  you  at 
the  tea-table  in  an  instant,  Julia ;  I  see  that  Mr.  Sampson 
wishes  to  speak  to  me  alone.  —  And  now  they  are  gone, 
what,  in  Heaven's  name,  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

20  "  It  may  be  a  message  from  heaven,"  said  the  dominie, 
"  but  it  came  by  Beelzebub's  postmistress.  It  was  that 
witch,  Meg  Merrilies,  who  should  have  been  burned  with 
a  tar-barrel  twenty  years  since,  for  a  harlot,  thief,  witch, 
and  gypsy." — "Are  you  sure  it  was  she?"  said  the  colonel, 

25  with  great  interest.  —  "  Sure,  honored  sir  ?  the  like  o'  Meg 
Merrilies  is  not  to  be  seen  in  any  land." 

The  colonel  paced  the  room  rapidly,  cogitating  with 
himself.  "  To  send  out  to  apprehend  her  —  but  it  is  too 
distant  to  send  to  MacMorlan,  and  Sir  Robert  Hazlewood 

30  is  a  pompous  coxcomb;  besides,  the  chance  of  not  finding 
her  upon  the  spot,  and  the  humor  of  silence  that  seized  her 
before  may  again  return ;  —  no,  I  will  not,  to  save  being 
thought  a  fool,  neglect  the  course  she  points  out. 

"  Many  of  her  class  set  out  by  being  impostors,  and 

35  end  by  being  enthusiasts,  or  hold  a  kind  of  darkling  conduct 
between  both  lines,  unconscious  almost  when  they  are 
cheating  themselves  or  when  imposing  on  others.  —  Well, 
my  course  is  a  plain  one,  at  any  rate ;  and  if  my  efforts  are 
fruitless,  it  shall  not  be  owing  to  over-jealousy  of  my  own 

40  character  for  wisdom."  With  this  he  rung  the  bell,  and 
ordering  Barnes  into  his  private  sitting-room,  gave  him 
some  orders,  with  the  result  of  which  the  reader  may  be 
made  hereafter  acquainted.  —  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


INDEX. 

INTRODUCTORY  LESSONS. 


Letion. 

1.  The 

2.  The 

3.  " 

4.  " 
6.     •' 

6.  '• 

7.  The 

8.  The 

9.  The 

10.  " 

11.  The 
lU.     " 

13.  " 

14.  The 

15.  " 


Interroration  Point  or  ^ueition 


26 

cont'd,  27 

27 

28 


20.  The 

21.  The 


Rxdamation  Point, 

Period,  Interrogation  and  Ezclama- 

n  united, 

Comma, 

"         continued. 

Semicolon 

♦'  continued,  . 

Colon, 

"        continued, 
Pnrentheaii,  Crotchet*  and  Brackets, 

Dash, 

Hyphen, 

Elhpsia, 

Apostrophe,  Quotation  and  Dimretii, 
Asteriik,   Ubeliak,   Double    ObelUk, 


Leston. 

Section,   Parallels,   Paragraph 
Caret,  Breve  and  Brace,    . 

22.  Accent,  .... 

23.  Emphasis,    .... 

24.  Primary  and  Secondary  Emphasia 
23.    Distinctness  of  Articulation, 

26.  Manner  or  Eipresaion, 

27.  Pitch  of  the  Voice,      . 

28.  Transition, 

29.  Elliptical  Sentences,    . 

30.  Antithesis,    .... 

31.  Enumeration, 

32.  Iron?, 

33.  Analogy,       .... 

34.  The  Star 

35.  Measure  of  Speech,     . 

36.  Manner  of  Reading  Poetry, 

37.  Monotone 

38.  Analysis,       .... 

39.  Bleniiin^of  Words,  produced  by 

ed  Force,   .         .         .        .        , 

40.  Improvement  of  the  Voice, 


Pag*. 
Index, 


INDEX  OF  THE  EXERCISES. 


[The  lulic  letters  indicate  those  Exercises  which  are  in  verse.] 

Author  g. 

Structure  of  Animals, Spectator,  .  . 

Philosophy Thomson,  .  . 

Scale  of  Beings Addison,  .  .  . 

Teachings  of  Nature, Pollock,    .  .  . 

Eitgli.-ih  Piiliieness  described  by  a  Native  of  China, 


109 

no 

113 
119 
136 
141 
144 

151 
152 


Pnfce. 

.  157 

.  160 

161 

164 


Goldsmith, 165 


Plerts fires  of  Melancholy T.  Warton, 

Amiable  Character  of  the  Patriarch  Joseph,    •    .   .  .   .  Blair, 

The  Rtn'nbote Campbell,     .   .    . 

Immortality  of  the  Soul Addison,  .   .   .   . 

Winler. Thomson,     .   .   . 

Sabbath  Exercises Abbott 

The  Des^^^rted  Village Goldsmith,  .   .   . 

The  Journey  of  a  Day  ;  a  Picture  of  Human  Life,  ...  Dr.  Johnson,    .   . 

A  Siimmp.r  Morning, Thomson,     .   .   . 

Parable  of  the  Ewe  Lamb, Bible 

Meditation Thomson,     .   .   . 

The  Planetary  and  the  Terrestial  WorldSj Addison,  .   .   .   . 

Q,iiarrel  between  Roderick  Dhu  and  Fttz  James,    .   .  Sir  Walter  Scott, 

S<^hRme.'s  of  Life  often  Illusory, Dr.  Johnson.. .   . 

A  Dream, Bryant,     .   .   .   . 


166 
167 
170 
172 
.174 
175 
178 
188 
192 
194 
195 
197 
199 
210 
213 

Ortognil ;  or,  the  Vanity  of  Riches, Dr.  Johnson, 214 

Summer  HexU, Thomson, 216 

Omniscience  and  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity, Addison,      217 

~"  220 

221 
222 


Sitmyner  Bathing,     Thomson, 

Scene  after  a  Thunder  Shower, "  

Domestic  Employment, Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigoumey, 

Scene  from  the  Tragedy  of  King  John, Shakspeare,     .... 


225 


Character  of  Addison  as  a  Writer Dr.  Johnson, 231 

El-gy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard, Gray, 2.S2 

Filial  Reverence, Mrs.  Farrar 2^5 

Autumn, Thomson, 237 

Tiie  FirMi  and  the  Last  Dinner, Anonymous, 2.39 

Dny.  —  A  Pastoral Cunningham, 241 

Dombey's  Introduction  into  a  Fashionable  School,  .    .   .  Dickens, 244 

Same  subject  continued. —The  Dinner  Hour, "         251 

Orator  Puff. Moore,     2.54 

S.)lil<x^uy  of  Dick  the  Apprentice Anonymous, 254 

Fwp'xous  ffistori/  of  John  Gilpin Cowper 255 

Deprtriureof  the  Gypsies  from  Ellangowan, Sir  Waller  Scott,    .   .   .258 

S'iring Thomson 261 

Adilrcss  to  President  Washiniion 263 

TroHt  Fishing, Thomson, -265 

C.Mitentmcnt, Addison, 267 


432  INDEX. 

Exercise.  Author/.                                 Page. 

46.  Arahi/^s  Daughter,      Moore, 270 

47.  The  ftill  of  Science Aikin,       271 

48.  T/ie  Passion.<i.  —  An  Ode ,    .Collins 274 

49.  Adaptation  of  Christianity  to  the  Wants  of  Man,    .   .  Pres.  Hopkins,   ....  276 

50.  Hymn  on  the  Seasons Thomson, 278 

51.  The  Blind  Man  restored  to  Sierht,      St.  John's  Gospel,  .   .   .  281 

52.  Picture  of  a  Distinguished  Poet, Pollock, 283 

63.   Grotto  of  Antiparos Goldsmith, 287 

54.    T/ie  Past. Bryant, 290 

*  55.   Extract  from  an  Oration  at  Washington, Hon.  R.  C.  Winlhrop,  .  291 

66.   Winter  Scenes,      Thomson, 294 

57.   Punishment  of  a  Liar, Bible, 299 

68.  'Rejections  occasioned  by  a  Man's  perishing  in  a 

Snotc-storm, Thomson, 301 

59.  Callisthenes' Reproof  of  Cleon's  Flattery  of  Alexander,  Q.  Curtius 303 

60.  Rural  Felicity, Thomson 304 

61.  Rolla's  Address  to  the  Peruvians, Sheridan,      306 

62.  Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night Moore, 307 

63.  Extract  from  a  Speech  in  the  British  Parliament  in  1770,  Lord  Mansfield,  .   .   .   .308 

64.  Address  to  the  Deity,      Young, 309 

65.  Causes  of  Differences  of  Opinion, Abbott, 311 

66.  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer, Moore, 312 

67.  Importance  of  Order  in  the  Distribution  of  Time,    .   .Blair 313 

68.  The  Katydid Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes,    .   .  314 

69.  Conclusion  of  an  Address  to  President  Washington,    .  Fisher  Ames, 316 

70.  The.  Frost, Hannah  F.  Gould,  .   .   .317 

71.  Character  of  Lord  Chatham,      Grattan, 318 

72.  '[y\a.\osue~  Cardinal  Wolsey  and  Cromwell,      .   .   .  Shakspeare, 319 

73.  On  the  Resurrection, St.  Paul, 322 

74.  Selfishness  Reproved, Pope, 325 

75.  Extract  from  an  Address  before  the  N.  E.  Society,      .  Hon.  R.  C.  Winthrop,  .  326 

76.  Description  of  Mab,  dveen  of  the  Fairies,    ....  Shakspeare, 335 

77.  Progress  of  Freedom,      .'  .    . " W.  H.  Prescott.      ...  335 

78.  The  Meeting  of  the  Waters, Moore 338 

79.  Extracts  from  an  Inaugural  Address, Hon.  John  P.  Bigelow,  .  339 

80.  Adam's  Description  of  his  first  State  of  Being,  .    .Milton, 342 

81.  Character  of  Lord  Halifax, Macaulay 342 

82.  Deacriptionof  Eve's  first  finding  herself  on  Earth,    Milton, 345 

83.  The  Cant  of  Criticisrn, Sterne,  ...    .....  346 

84.  Hotspur's  Description  of  a  Fop, Shakspeare 347 

85.  Extract  from  an  Address.        Hon.  R.  C.  Winthrop,  .  348 

86.  Soliloquy  of  Claudius,  Hamlet's  uncle, Shakspeare,     .....  354 

87.  Cliarity St.  Paul, 355 

88.  Farewell Moore,      356 

89.  English  Travellers W.  H.  Prescott,     ...  367 

90.  Speak  Gently • Anonymous, 365 

91. .  Extract  from  a  Speech  in  the  Senate  of  the  U.  States,  .  Hon.  Rufus  Choate,  .   .  366 

92.  The  Bird  let  loose,      Moore 368 

93.  The  Prodigal  Son,     St.  Luke, 369 

94.  Go  where  Glory  waits  thee, Moore,      370 

95.  Hamlet's  Advice  to  the  Players, Shakspeare, 371 

96.  Milton's  Lamentation  for  the  Loss  of  Sight,    .   .   .Milton 372 

97.  Intellectual  Improvement,      Abbott, 374 

98.  The  World  Compared  to  a  Stage, Shakspeare, 377 

99.  Woman,      Geo.  B.  Emerson,  ...  378 

100.  Passing  Away Pierpont, 380 

101.  Association  of  Idea.g, Taylor, 382 

102.  The  Lighthouse Moore 33.8 

103.  Aqueous  Agencies, David  Page, 3S8 

104.  Soliloquy  of  Hamlet  on  Death, Shakspeare, 394 

105.  Hotspur's  Soliloquy  on  the  Contents  of  a  Letter, .       .         "  395 

106.  Cataract  of  Lodore, Southey, 396 

107.  Power  of  Custom, ".   .   .   .Addison, 393 

108.  The  Contrast, Pollock, 400 

109.  How  to  Remember  what  we  Read, Pycroft 403 

110.  Happin^s  equally  distributed, Goldsmith, 408 

111.  Character  of  Francisco  Pizarro, W.  H.  Prescott,     .  .   .  409 

112.  Virtuous  Love Thomson, 416 

113.  S!iak.spearo Price 413 

114.  The  Chameleon, Merrick,      421 

115.  Domiiiie  Sampson's  Encounter  with  Meg  Merrilies,    .  Sir  Walter  Scott,   .  .     422 


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